


Exactly The Same

by Bolt41319



Series: Exactly The Same - A Series [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22102702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bolt41319/pseuds/Bolt41319
Summary: Every day, the mayor of Storybrooke eats breakfast at Granny's Diner alone, much to the chagrin of a young Roland Locksley. Determined to befriend her, Roland sets about on a quest to win her approval and end her solitude. But, as his father watches his son's infatuation with the mayor grow, Robin Locksley finds himself equally drawn to her exquisite nature, the mystery behind her past, and the tiny baby wrapped in pale blue blankets that comes in with her one morning.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Series: Exactly The Same - A Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863916
Comments: 95
Kudos: 246





	1. Chapter 1

Every day, the mayor of Storybrooke sits in the same seat at the counter, perched regally on the edge of her stool, sipping her coffee. She’s strikingly gorgeous, her dark hair always so perfectly sculpted, and he can’t help but watch her when she comes into the diner and sits alone. There’s never a companion, day after day she just reads her book and eats her breakfast in silence. 

Roland has taken a keen interest in Mayor Mills though. He’s been watching her over his breakfast, his eyes squinted, brow furrowed as if he’s lost in thought as he shovels french toast into his mouth. It’s been their daily routine for as long as he can remember. Robin wakes up to his son practically bouncing on his chest, begging him to go to the diner each and every morning. Roland rushes to get dressed and then chats his way up the sidewalk, tugging on his father’s hand, saying ‘Good Morning’ to every member of Storybrooke that they pass. 

He’s been watching Mayor Mills for a week now, huffing silently, pushing his food around his plate whenever a new patron enters Granny’s and they don’t sit with her. As the next person walks in and straight past her, sitting alone at the other end of the bar, Roland fully groans and pushes his palms against the table.

“Papa,” Roland starts, his lips puckered. “Why does Miss Mayor sit by herself?” 

Robin looks over his shoulder at her, her frame perfectly poised as she eats an apple turnover and stirs her coffee. “Well my boy,” he sighs, turning his attention back to his son, “Maybe she just likes to enjoy a breakfast by herself every once in a while. She’s a very busy person, you know.” 

“But it’s  _ every day,”  _ he groans. “Ms. Blanchard said that if we see someone eating lunch all alone, all the time, we should eat with them! It’s how you make friends.”

“That’s very true,” Robin nods, chuckling, “But sometimes people like to eat alone. And that’s a good rule for Ms. Blanchard to have, but that doesn’t mean that you always sit with strangers in diners. You know that, right?” 

“But she isn’t a stranger Papa,” Roland groans, rolling his eyes. “She’s the  _ mayor.  _ Everyone knows her. She shouldn’t eat all by herself all the time, that’s no fun.” 

“You’re right,” Robin nods, taking a bite of his own breakfast. “But it’s not our place to disrupt her morning, Roland, not if we don’t know if she wants company or not.” 

Roland shakes his head, eyes darting from his breakfast, to Regina, and then finally back on him. “I’m a nice person though Papa.” 

“That you are my boy,” Robin smiles. 

“And nice people are  _ nice  _ to other people. You’re a nice person too. We can share our nice-ness with Miss Mayor too.” 

“I—” Robin starts, but before he can get anything else out, Roland is up and bounding across the diner, curls bouncing as he hops up onto the stool next to her and shouts, “Hi!” 

He can’t quite hear what Mayor Mills says back but he can see her face clearly as she takes in his son. She sucks in a breath, seemingly startled at the little boy, but immediately her face softens and she smiles down at him. 

She says something that Robin can’t catch but he hears Roland’s infectious giggles echo through the restaurant, some of the other patrons heads turning to see where it’s coming from. His son climbs up onto his knees and leans over, invading the mayors space and he knows he should get up, should grab Roland and get them out of her hair, but he hesitates when she cuts a piece of her turnover and passes it to Roland, who eagerly takes a big bite out of the piece. 

They stay like that for another few minutes, trading whispers and pieces of apple turnover, before Roland hops back down and waves, yelling “Bye Miss Mayor!” as he strides back across the diner. 

He climbs back up into the booth as if nothing happened, as if he didn’t just talk to a total stranger. Roland takes another bite of his french toast and grins across the table. “Papa, I made a friend!” he yells, practically bouncing with excitement. “Did you see me? I said  _ hi _ , like you’re s’posed to, and then I asked her if she wanted to be friends with us! And guess what Papa, she said yes!” 

“Well then,” he chuckles, glancing over at the mayor before back at his son. She’s talking with Granny, passing money across the counter and he swears he can see her glancing over at him out of the corner of his eye. “That was very nice of you to go over there Roland.” 

Roland nods, taking another bite of his breakfast, his face beaming with pride. “I like being a nice person.” 

.::.

That afternoon Roland comes home from day-care with a backpack full of drawings. 

They’re all different, pictures of houses and flowers, some of them together at the park or in the yard. There’s two of he and Marian— what little Roland remembers about his Mum trapped somewhere in the back of his mind, which seems to come out less and less every day. Robin’s trying to keep Marian’s memory alive, reminding Roland of her smile, telling him stories, but the more time that passes, the more he loses his memories of her as well. They’re all a little fuzzy, blending together with his dreams so that he can’t quite distinguish what parts of his wife are real and which aren’t. It’s been a little less than two years since Marian passed and he shouldn’t be losing parts of her so quickly, not like this. 

“Papa,” Roland asks, tugging on his father’s hand. “Can I take Miss Mayor her pictures now?” 

It stops Robin and he stares down at his son, shaking his head. “She’s probably very busy Roland. We can’t just surprise her in the middle of the afternoon.” 

“B— but she works in the big building with all the people! She told me so this morning. She said she’s always in boring meetings, whatever they are.” He’s starting to get upset, his bottom lip trembling as he sniffles. “I used all the colors in my crayon box.”

Robin kneels down and Roland shuffles closer, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Please Papa?” 

“My boy…” Robin starts, brushing his son’s unruly hair back from his forehead. “Mayor Mills is probably in one of those big meetings right now. But you can give her one of your drawings tomorrow, when we see her at breakfast.” 

Roland drops his head to his father’s shoulder and nods, stepping up close so that Robin easily wraps an arm around him and lifts his up. “Promise?” 

“I promise, as long as she’s there.” 

“She’ll be there, she promised,” Roland sniffles, squirming until he’s comfortable. “Miss Mayor won’t break a promise.” 

Roland spends the rest of their evening sorting out his pictures into piles, one’s that he deems acceptable to give to the mayor, the others going into a pile that Roland wants to “go on the ‘fridgerator”. He insists on going to bed early, practically drags Robin off of the couch and upstairs at 7 so he can get his bath and into his Captain America pajamas. 

Robin reads him one book and with that Roland is out like a light, his little body snuggled beneath the sheets, soft snores coming from him. 

He makes his way back downstairs, scooping up the stack of drawings Roland’s made before walking over to the couch, sitting down and filtering through them. 

He’s so curious about his son’s infatuation with the Mayor, his sudden, keen interest in the woman who sits across from them at breakfast with them every morning. 

She’s gorgeous, he’ll give Roland that. Not as if that’s the reason his son has become enamoured by the leader of their town, but it’s surely part of the reason that he himself has. 

She’s just so intriguing, sitting by herself each day. He knows all about her, the youngest mayor of Storybrooke. She’s commanding, according to those that work closest with her. He’s become privy to information in this town from his work at the firehouse, sitting around with the other EMT’s, listening to their stories. He tries to not pay attention to the rumors that spread, the information that his merry band of coworkers has gathered, but he always perks up when her name is mentioned. 

Regina Mills. 

There’s an unexplainable draw he feels to her that he can’t pinpoint. She’s got a brilliant mind— he loves watching her run her bi-weekly town meetings, the command in her voice when she debates with the townspeople about whatever complaint they have. She carries herself with such regal sense, such pride that he just needs to know more about her, her family, anything she’d be willing to give him. 

He just has to talk to her first. 

.::. 

The next morning Roland is up bright and early, ready to go. While Robin packs their lunches for the day, Roland rushes around the house, collecting his drawings and other things he wants to show the mayor and placing them delicately into his backpack. He can’t stop talking about “Miss Mayor” on the way to the diner, and the moment they step in, Roland’s rushing across the floor and hopping up onto the stool next to her. 

Robin freezes, his eyes drawn to the skin of her back bare where the line of her tight black dress sets on the curve of her lower spine.  _ She’s incredible. _

“You know Robin, you could at least close the door and gawk from inside. It’s November, and barely 40 degrees out there,” Ruby grumbles as she walks past him with an armful of plates. 

“I’m so sorry,” he stammers, turning to close the door quickly behind him. He should go over and say something to her, apologize for Roland’s persistence, take his son back over to their usual booth and reinforce the manners he knows, but seems to have forgotten. When he turns back though, the mayor is doting on his son, listening to him as he animatedly describes the picture’s he’s drawn for her and points out all of the details. She’s laughing along with him, a gorgeous smile plastered on her face, her hand resting on Roland’s back to hold him on the stool. 

He steps closer and hears her soft voice, a light whisper that he knows must be reserved for children, a vast contrast from the booming power she holds over the crowd at town meetings. 

“Who’s this in your picture?” she asks, leaning over just slightly. She pushes her coffee out of the way as Roland shoves his picture closer to her, climbing up onto his knees on the stool to lean into her, his curly hair against her neck. 

“That’s Papa. He’s over there!” Roland shouts, turning again to point. Robin  _ knows _ he must look stupid, standing awkwardly in the center of the restaurant, staring at them. 

Regina laughs though, lifts her hand and gives him a little wave with her fingers. It’s fleeting though— Roland grabs her face with his palm and directs her attention back down. “That’s you, and Papa, and then me! We’re at school, and here is the swings and the slide. The slide is my  _ favorite.  _ You go so fast, and spin around in circles over and over before you land on your butt!” 

Oh, oh god. 

Robin finally snaps out of his daze, striding quickly over to his son, ruffling Roland’s hair when he comes up behind him. “Why don’t you go ask Granny if you can wash your hands so we can eat our breakfast?” 

“Okay Papa! Miss Mayor, don’t go. I have more things to show you,” he tells her, patting her on the knee before hopping off of the stool and making his way to the other end of the counter, waiting patiently for Granny to help him. 

“I— I’m so sorry,” Robin starts, running his hand through his hair. “I swear, I’ve tried telling him that he’s not just able to go talk to anyone he wants. He insisted though, he didn’t want you to be lonely. Not, oh god, not that you’re a lonely person, Madam Mayor, he’s just a young lad and he’s just learning how to make friends, and—” 

“It’s fine,” she stops him, her voice not quite as airy as it was with Roland, but it draws him to silence immediately. “I don’t mind at all, Mr. Locksley, I promise. He’s a sweet boy, and he’s so full of energy and incredibly kind. It’s a refreshing start to my morning, so please don’t mind your son one bit, I surely don’t.” 

“He is a bit much, isn’t he?” Robin laughs, watching as the boy listens intently as Granny explains the proper way to wash your own hands. “He’s very excited that you talked to him, if you can’t already tell. It seems to be part of their classwork that the students are supposed to make new friends, and Roland seems to have taken his task very seriously. Miss Blanchard is trying her best with him. ” 

Regina freezes at the mention of the name but before he can ask her, she smiles and laughs. “Hmm, she is some type of  _ nosy  _ person,” she says, lifting her cup of coffee to her lips. He’s trying to not watch her to intently but she’s mesmerizing, her dark hair curled perfectly, resting over her right shoulder. Her bag and coat aren’t in their normal spot on the stool next to her, they’re hung on the hooks beneath the counter, as if she had intentionally left a spot open for Roland. 

He rushes back over and clambers up onto the stool, holding his hands out in front of his face. “Papa look, they’re all clean! Granny said she’s making our bre’fast for us. Can we sit over here though? I want to sit with Miss Mayor.” 

“Well—” he starts, but Regina reaches out and puts her hand against his forearm, smiling at him. 

“Actually Roland, I’ve got a meeting this morning that’s starting early, so I’ve got to get going. But I’m going to take one of your pictures with me and hang it up in my office, if that’s okay with you? And then we can maybe have breakfast together another day this week?” 

His face scrunches up for a moment before he nods once, grinning up at her. “That’s okay! Can you hang up this one?” he asks, pushing one toward her. It’s a picture that he drew of the three of them. Roland is standing in the middle, and he’s holding his stuffed Dalmatian and looking up at Robin on top of a bright red ambulance. A figure that is absolutely meant to be Regina is standing beside Roland, and she’s holding her hands on her stick-figure waist. 

“This one’s my favorite,” he tells her. “It’s got all of us.” 

Robin watches her as she looks down and smiles at the picture, her finger tracing over the raised crayon outline of their bodies. “I think that one’s my favorite too,” she whispers. 

Roland leaps back off of the stool and wraps his arms around her legs in a tight hug. “Bye Miss Mayor, have a good meetin’.” He pulls his backpack off of the stool next to them and reaches up, tugging on Robin’s hand. “Come on Papa, it’s time to eat!” 

He looks back at Regina, tries to tell her thank you again for letting Roland talk with her, but Roland’s practically pulling him across the restaurant. She lifts her hand again and gives him another wave, smiling as she looks back down at the picture on the counter. Roland’s already talking, going on about how ready he is to go to school, the fun they’re going to have at recess, but he can’t take his eyes off of Regina. She tucks the drawing into her bag and then pulls on a slim black peacoat, tying the belt around her waist into a bow. She pulls her long, dark hair out from beneath the coat and tugs her gloves on, slinging her bag over her shoulder. It’s amazing how drawn to her he is, how each precise, graceful movement she makes has him fascinated by her. 

Regina throws one last look over her shoulder, making eye contact with him, a small smile spreading over her face. “Bye,” she mouths, her eyes darting toward Roland before putting a ten onto the counter and making her way out of the diner. 

.::.

This absolutely  _ can’t  _ be happening. 

Her life has been like Groundhog Day since the day she cast the curse, caught in a never ending loop of boredom and loneliness. She can’t be mad at herself though — it’s everything she wanted. 

Right? 

She has her house, her job, total control over everyone. Snow White is separated from her precious prince for all of eternity, and she’s finally gotten the sweet revenge that she craved for so many years. It should feel better than this. 

She didn’t mind the loneliness as much when they first came to Storybrooke. It was her own penance for what she’d done in the Enchanted Forest, for ripping out her own father’s heart just to get revenge on the scum that was her step daughter. But then as the years passed she realized that her own pain wasn’t going to change, and everyone else in this town was oblivious to the punishment they had been handed. It was well worth it though, watching Snow White flit around the town in her position teaching the 4 year old class at the day-care, missing that part of her life that was lost to a coma and trapped in the hospital forever. 

Regina had resigned herself to just watch them all from afar, until this week, when a little boy with curly hair took it upon himself to butt right into her life. 

Roland was a spitfire. He was loud, and  _ so _ energetic, bouncing constantly in his seat, pushing himself like a high-speed train into her life. It startled her at first and she wasn’t sure how to handle him— she couldn’t be mean and cold to him as she was to everyone else. The poor boy was only 4, and had no inkling of how she could really be. It threw her though, how to let this little boy’s influence in her life keep her cold, battered heart from turning red again. She had been starting to crave redemption though, wanted to be better than the version of herself that had cast this curse in the first place, wanted something more than a life filled with unhappiness. 

In just two days, Roland made her realize that maybe she could be capable of something more than a life of time spent alone. 

Regina steps into her office, her heels clicking against the stark white marble tile, and she pulls the picture that Roland had drawn her out of her bag, staring at it. 

It’s stupid how much she loves it. Her fingers trace over the raised crayon outlines, the smiles on each of their faces, how Roland drew the two of them holding hands, his other arm wrapped around what he’d described to her as his stuffed Dalmatian. When she gets into her seat she pulls two strips of tape off of the dispenser, wrapping them each carefully into a circle, sticking them to the back of the drawing and hanging it from the edge of her desk. 

Her meeting starts early and she’s distracted throughout the entire thing, barely listening to Graham in what is now her fourth meeting of the day, as he discusses town safety. It doesn’t interest her at all and she keeps losing her train of thought, drifting off into thoughts of the tall, handsome father of the little boy that’s wormed his way into her heart. 

Robin Locksley really is something else. 

She doesn’t remember him from the Enchanted Forest, can’t pinpoint who he may have been in their past life. He looks familiar though, and though it’s eating at her that she can’t remember exactly who he is or where he’s from, she’s partially relieved. It’s ridiculous for her to believe that she hadn’t done something to ruin his life— she’s ruined all of their lives, but at least she can’t recall a time where’d ruined him and Roland’s lives directly. 

There’s been no semblance that anyone here still holds the memories from their past, and although she’s certain there’s no way that they can be woken from the curse, she doesn’t want there to be a chance that they’ll one day wake up and remember all the terrible things she’s done. 

Robin intrigues her though. He’s smart and incredibly kind, and not at  _ all  _ a burden to look at either. She’d noticed him in Granny’s before Roland started sitting with her, tucked back in the corner furthest from the door with his adorable son. He was always polite, and he watched her, not in a way that alarmed her, just… carefully. 

She couldn’t blame him though, she’d been watching him as well. 

He always gets the same thing, sits in the same seat, and it makes her wonder if anyone in Storybrooke even realizes that their lives are so boring and ordinary. Nothing exciting ever happens, and while she tries to incorporate some newer things into the town events, tries to be the mayor she should have been all along, she finds that they love to do the same things, year after year. 

“Madam Mayor,” Graham asks, tilting his head at her. “Ma’am are you listening?” 

Regina snaps out of her trance, her eyes darting up from where she’d been doodling little arrows across the edge of her paper. “I’m sorry Sheriff, what was it that you need?” 

“Can you sign this approval for the new budget? We need to install another traffic light on the main road.”

Her brow furrows and she shakes her head, reaching across the table to grab the paper from him. “I’ll look over it in more detail this week. You can go. We’re done here.” 

She can’t focus, can’t possibly listen to him drone on for another thirty minutes about this town when she knows that nothing will change. 

Graham grumbles but ultimately leaves her office. Her eyes flash to the clock and it’s pushing on 4:45, just in time for the after-school program to let out. Regina goes to her window, watches like clockwork as Robin and Roland make their way past her City Hall. 

The little boy is talking animatedly, bouncing in circles as they make their way up the sidewalk and stop at the corner. He’s got flowers in his hand and he’s waving them all around as he talks, pointing up at her window then down the flowers, then back up at her again. She sees Robin shake his head and watches as Roland pouts, his little head shaking. He says something else and she can see as Robin plainly tells him “No,” but then suddenly Roland’s face turns red and his bottom lip juts out, and whatever he’s been asking for, Robin ultimately concedes. 

But then the little boy takes his father’s hand and is — oh god, shit, he’s tugging him toward City Hall. 

No, no they can’t be coming in here. 

She’s not sure why there’s butterflies in her stomach, why she’s suddenly nervous but she knows they’re coming in to see her and she doesn’t know how to react. 

Their footsteps echo through the old building and she can hear Roland’s voice, his exclamations of how excited he is, and then before she can even prepare herself there’s a knock at her office door. 

Regina sucks in a deep breath and walks across the room, swinging open the door. Her eyes meet Robin’s first and she can’t help but smile at the sheepish grin he gives her, when he mouths his apology and then nudges his son forward.

“Miss Mayor!” Roland shouts. “I got-cha some flowers.” 

He steps right past her, making his way into her office and his jaw drops.  _ “Wow,” _ Roland exclaims, spinning in a little circle, the flowers securely in his hand. “Your office is pretty.” 

“Thank you Roland,” Regina smiles, stepping in behind him. Roland bounds back over to her and holds up his flowers, stretching up onto the tips of his toes to show her. 

“I got the purple ones cause they match your shoes,” he says, looking down to where her dark purple heels rest on her feet, then back up at her. “Do you like purple?” 

“It’s my favorite,” she smiles, kneeling town to take the flowers from his sweaty palm. “You’ve been holding these for a while, haven’t you?” 

He nods, his brunette curls bouncing against his forehead. “I found ‘em at recess and Miss Blanchard let me put them safe on her desk, but school ended and I didn’t wanna lose ‘em.” His cheeks turn a light shade of red and he ducks his head, his eyes flashing from her down to his shoes. “Do you like them?” 

“Oh, I love them,” she smiles, her voice light. “They’re beautiful, Roland. Thank you so much.” 

He blushes hard, his little body squirming with excitement. “You’re welcome,” he nods. He turns then, looks back, grinning over his shoulder at Robin. “Papa she  _ liked _ them.” 

“That she did my boy,” Robin smiles. “That was very polite of you.” 

Roland nods and then turns his attention back to her, patting her on the cheek. “You’re pretty Miss Mayor.” 

It’s her turn to blush at that, looking from Roland to Robin, whose eyes have gone wide at his son’s statement. “I— He—” 

“He’s a heartbreaker,” Regina chuckles, opening her arms up to Roland, who immediately launches himself at her for a hug. “You’re very sweet Roland.” 

“My Papa thinks you’re pretty too,” he whispers, just quiet enough that she doesn’t believe Robin hears him, until she looks up and sees the absolute look of embarrassment and terror on his face. She lets out a full laugh at that, her heart melting for the adorable boy and his equally as adorable father. 

“Papa said we can go to Granny’s and get burgers for dinner Miss Mayor. Can you come?” 

“Roland, I’m sure the mayor has loads of important things to do. She’s a very busy person, and—” 

“Actually,” Regina cuts in, biting her lip, looking up at him. “I skipped lunch today and I’m quite starved. I was going to stop by there on my way out, so we can always walk there—” 

“Yes!” Roland shouts, jumping up and down, rushing back to Robin. “See Papa, she said yes!” 

“She did,” he replies, sounding shocked. “We’re headed out there now, if you’d like to join us, Madam Mayor.” 

“Regina,” she smiles, stepping up to him, her right hand extended out to shake his. “Please, Mr. Locksley, call me Regina.” 

Robin reaches his own out, his warm hand practically engulfing her own. She feels something shoot up her arm, a brief force weaving its way through her brain and into her heart. It has her own hand twitching in his but he holds her still, calming the steady  _ thump _ she feels in her chest. “It’s Robin.” 

“Well then,” she blushes, carefully pulling her hand from his. “It’s nice to meet you Robin.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gigantic thank you to @Aussi18, @lanaismykhaleesi, and @outlawqueenbey for helping me through this fic. I don't know what I'd do without you girls.

When they all walk into Granny’s together, the shocked look the older woman gives her cuts slice straight through her heart. Though Regina knows how Granny feels about her constantly eating alone, how the older woman constantly berates her for acting like a hermit and not putting herself out there more often, she’s reluctant to let Granny see her with the Locksley’s. 

She had asked Regina about Roland this morning, wondered why the boy had taken it upon himself to ‘make her less lonely’. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate them looking out for her, but it had stung when she realized that even the 4 year old that sat across from her at breakfast everyday realized she had no social life. 

“Granny!” Roland calls out, rushing through the door of the diner and up to the counter. “Miss Mayor wants burgers too!” 

“Does she now?” Granny asks, eyeing Regina over her glasses. She ducks her head and fiddles with the strap of her bag, nibbling at her bottom lip, waiting until Granny turns her attention back to Roland. “Did you know that Regina likes her burgers just like you do?” 

He gasps, turning back to her. “You like barbecue sauce too?” 

“It’s my favorite,” she laughs. 

Roland comes back over and brings both hands up, grabbing one of hers and one of Robin’s, pulling them into the restaurant. “We can sit over here,” he tells him, pulling them with all his might towards the counter. “Can I sit in the middle?” 

“I— sure, Roland,” Robin tells him, leaning down to take the boy’s backpack off and hang it up on the hooks beneath the edge of the counter. “You go wash up. Ruby’s over there, okay?” 

Roland nods and skips off, and she takes the opportunity to reach out, her fingers brushing against Robin’s arm. 

“I didn’t mean to impose on your night,” she starts. “Really, I can get something to go and head back to my place, it’s no bother.” 

Robin looks down at where her fingertips are brushing the edge of his long-sleeve, and he shakes his head. “I don’t mind, if you’re okay with it? Roland’s been talking about you non-stop for two days now. I didn’t mean to have him barge into your office like that, but the boy is persistent, and he was adamant that if he couldn’t take you the flowers  _ right _ then, then they would die.” 

“Does he have this much energy all the time?” she asks, watching across the diner as Roland takes Ruby’s hand when she walks him back toward them. 

“He’s been exceptionally hyper the past few days but overall, yeah, this is pretty normal. He’s a sweet kid though, and he really does mean well. He’d been asking about and noticing you, well, we’ve both noticed you actually. Not that you’re hard to miss, I mean, you’re stunning, but—” he stammers, a flush rising up his cheeks. “I should stop talking now.” 

Regina can’t help but laugh at him, her thumb absentmindedly circling his wrist. She shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t touch him, shouldn’t  _ flirt _ with this man she’s barely met, but there’s something about him that she just can’t place and it’s eating at her. “I think you’re doing a fine job actually,” she tells him, finally pulling her hand away. “Well, as long as you Locksleys don’t mind, I think I would love to join you both for dinner.” 

Dinner is more fun than she’d realized was even possible, and it terrifies her. 

Roland is adorable, chatters on about his day, all of the fun things they’d learned in school and what he’s most excited about for tomorrow. Spending time with them is the lightest she’s felt in years, the weight and guilt lifted from her blackened heart, slowly chiseled away with each laugh Roland lets out. 

She notices throughout their meal though that Robin keeps watching her. She doesn’t say much, just listens and chimes in when necessary, but the more that Robin talks, the more she can feel the weight of his words crashing down on her. Something isn’t right, something about him, his son, it’s ripping its way into every bone in her body and pulling out all of her fears about her curse in the first place. When they get finished, she gives Granny her cash before Robin can even fish his wallet out of his pocket, insisting that she’s the one who practically invited herself out with them and it’s the least she can do, and she needs to get out of here. 

Roland bids her goodbye with a tight hug around her knees, and she promises him that they’ll have breakfast together again one day this week. When he pulls back from her though, Regina looks up and looks Robin over carefully. 

“It was nice to get to know you,” she tells him, her hands trembling as she reaches out to shake his. It’s too formal but she doesn’t know what to do, how to react around him. It’s like the moment he infiltrated her brain she can’t think straight, can’t pinpoint exactly why she feels this way and it’s eating at her. She needs to get out of here, needs to get back into her own head, away from all of the feelings she’d tamped down for so long. 

They part ways outside of the diner and she practically runs back to the mayoral mansion, her hands trembling, her heart pounding. 

The moment she’s back in her home and closes the front door behind her, leans against it and cards her fingers through her hair, kicking her painful heels off of her feet, shoving them away with the ball of her foot. 

She hasn’t had this feeling in her heart for so long, this feeling of affection, of any semblance of her heart being able to beat freely since the day she ripped her own father’s heart out for a cause that she’s now not so sure was worth all of this. She can’t place where Robin is from, doesn’t think that she ever came across him in their time in the Enchanted Forest — she doesn’t know how she could forget that face, or Roland’s sweet demeanor. But, her mind back before the curse was skewed, hyper-focused on one thing and one thing only— the vicious revenge that her black heart craved. 

Regina pads through her house, making her way up the steps and into her bedroom. She sheds the slim black dress, lets the fabric fall to the floor and then takes a moment, staring at herself in the mirror. She runs her hand over the smooth, flat plane of her stomach, turning sideways to study her reflection. 

A child had always been a part of her plan before her mother had gotten involved. When she was younger she used to dream of what her life could have been, a happy marriage, at least two kids, a home filled with love and laughter and everything that she never had when she was younger. Instead her life had been corrupted, snatched away from her at 18, before she even had a chance to make a choice for herself. 

She spends hours that night looking up adoption agencies within the neighboring states, pours herself into books and news articles, researching all of her options. This isn’t the first time she’s considered a child, bringing another person into her home,  sharing the love that she has just rediscovered still lives inside of her, that's been stowed away and that she's just found still exists, thanks to Roland, and she that so desperately wants to share . She had put in her application to adopt a few months back and had a few phone calls since then, but each time she went to call them back, she’d chickened out. It’s not easy being a single mother, and though she knows that a child won’t solve all of her problems, she can’t help but wonder if being a mother will be the thing that helps make her a  _ little  _ more human. 

.::.

Regina hasn’t been to the diner in a week now. 

Roland’s taken the brunt of her disappearance the worst. He gets so excited when they go up to the door, looking right at the stool where she normally sits, only for the disappointment to take over when he realizes she’s still not there. Roland’s head pops up excitedly each time he hears the door chime, only to have his face fall and the frustration set in when it’s not her. He ends up picking bleakley at his eggs and it breaks Robin’s heart to see his son missing her so much. 

His backpack is full of things to give her, pictures he’s drawn, work from school that he got a good grade on. He can tell it’s bothering Roland that she isn’t there. The boy is worried, looking toward City Hall everytime they walk home from school, but Robin hasn’t seen her car there either. 

He’s starting to worry that they scared her off. Dinner had gone well, or so he had thought, but with her complete disappearance from town, he’s nervous. Robin wracked his brain for days, trying to think of any way that he could have made her uncomfortable during their brief meetings. He feels for his son’s sadness in her absence, but it isn’t the whole story for why he’s upset.  _ He  _ misses her too. She’s incredibly smart and witty, and the brief conversations they had at dinner have him craving more time with her. 

There’s just  _ something  _ about her that he can’t quite figure out, and he’s dying to know more. 

It’s early Saturday morning when Roland climbs into his bed, his Dalmatian tucked safely in one arm. “Papa,” he whispers, pushing his hand against Robin’s cheek. “Are you awake?” 

“I am now,” he grumbles, rolling over to grab Roland and wrap him in a hug. His fingers dart out to tickle against the boys side and Roland shrieks, his giggles taking over the room, his feet kicking out. 

“Papa stop!!” Roland giggles, his curly hair shaking as his body rumbles with laughter. As they settle down, he tucks his head against Robin’s shoulder, the Dalmatian smushed between them. “Can we go to breakfast today?” 

“Today? It’s Saturday. We usually make pancakes and watch cartoons.” 

“I know,” Roland says, letting out a heavy sigh. “But I want to see if Miss Mayor is there.” 

“Roland,” Robin sighs, rolling so he can see his son. “She hasn’t been there all week, my boy. There’s a chance that she’s just really busy.” 

“B— but,” he sniffles, “She promised she’d be there and she hasn’t! I have to show her my new pictures. And it’s  _ snowing,  _ and Granny said the first day it snows she’s gonna make me an apple muffin, all for myself.” Roland pushes himself up against his chest and Robin wraps an arm around his son, stroking his back softly. “Please? I’ll be on my bestest behavior, I promise.” 

Robin sighs and agrees, much to his own chagrin. “But, if Regina isn’t there, you’re not allowed to pout, do you understand? We’re not going to expect her to be there. She’s got grown-up things she has to do, so she’s not going to be around all the time, and we can’t expect her to be.” 

“Okay Papa, I promise,” he nods, squirming when Robin wraps him up in a hug. 

They’re out the door some twenty minutes later, warm in their winter coats, hats, and gloves. The snow is coming down hard now so as they walk to the diner, Roland is skipping around him, letting go of the straps from his backpack to scoop up snow-piles and tossing them into the air. They make it up to the door and Robin attempts to brush the snow from his hat to keep from tracking water inside, but Roland is through the door before he can even get the snow from his gloves. 

Robin sees her first, her dark hair a contrast to the white of her shirt, her back to the door. She’s not in her normal spot and so it takes Roland a moment, but when he finally sees her his son gasps in excitement and rushes across the diner. 

“Miss Mayor!” he shouts, skidding up to her booth. “You’re here!” 

Regina’s head turns and the frantic look he spots on her face quickly changes to something much softer, and she leans down to him. “Hi sweetheart,” she smiles, opening her arm up to him when he tries to climb in the booth to give her a hug. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to see you all week. I’ve been out of town, but I have someone for you to meet.” 

Robin takes that moment to step up, and that’s when he sees the slew of baby supplies covering the table in front of her. There’s a diaper bag on the other end of the booth, bottles and toys over every inch of the table where her food isn’t, and she looks — exhausted. The skin under her eyes is dark and she looks as if she could use a few hours of sleep. 

“Woah,” Roland whispers, leaning across her body to look into the carseat. “It’s a baby.” 

“This is Henry,” she whispers to Roland, reaching over to wrap her hands around the baby carefully, lifting him from the carseat. He’s absolutely adorable, dressed snugly in a blue onesie, his little arms and legs flailing when she lifts him up and peppers kisses against his cheeks. “He’s my son.” 

Roland looks down at her stomach then back up, shaking his head. “Anna’s mommy has a baby in her tummy and it’s  _ big.  _ Yours isn’t big.” 

She shakes her head and laughs, settling the baby against her chest. Robin’s still standing stupidly in the middle of the restaurant, just watching as she gives cuddles her own son against her chest, carefully rocking the boy as she turns her attention to his own son. “Henry’s adopted,” she tells him, and though Robin knows his son has no idea what that means, Roland nods and reaches his hand out to touch Henry’s small palm. 

“He’s so tiny,” Roland tells her, shifting onto his knees in the booth to look over the back of the seat. “Papa look! Miss Mayor has a baby.” 

Robin snaps out of his trance, shakes his head and eyes Roland, then the baby, and finally, he looks to Regina. She’s half turned in the seat, and she leans in, whispering to the boy with the brightest smile he’s seen splashed across her face. “I see that,” he breathes out, stepping up to their table. “A baby. How old is he?” 

“He’s 6 months. Robin, meet Henry.” 

He sits in the booth backing theirs, reaching his hand out, brushing the tip of his finger over the boy’s soft cheek. “Hi, Henry.” 

She lifts his little hand and makes him wave, and his eyes go from the boy to her once again. She’s absolutely stunning, even more now while she pats Henry’s back, whispering something to her own son that he can’t quite make out. Roland clambers around the booth, scooting in next to him, turning right back so he can peer over the edge of the seat at Henry. 

“Can he play with me?” 

“Not quite yet Roland, he’s too small,” she tells him. “But you can come see him anytime you want to. That’s why we’re here now, actually, so that Granny and Ruby can meet him, you and your Dad too.” 

“Speaking of,” Granny says, walking up to them. “Give me that bundle of adorable this instant Regina. You need to eat.” Regina starts to argue but Granny brushes her off, lifting Henry from his spot on her shoulder, cuddling him in her arms. “Roland, your muffin will be done in a few minutes and Robin, I’ve got them making you something special. Now, Regina,  _ eat _ something. You’re skin and bones.” 

“You always say that,” she grumbles, cutting a piece from the omelette in front of her that she’d long forgotten about. She takes a bite and Robin watches her so intensely, how her face soothes as she takes in the food, her eyes falling closed, a soft  _ hmm _ escaping from her lips. 

Granny glares at her from over the baby and smirks, shifting Henry in her arms so she can pat his back. “Mhm, and you want to sit here and try and tell me you’re not hungry. When’s the last time you had a proper meal? Or slept?” 

“It’s been a few days,’ she grumbles, taking another bite from her omelette. “Thank you though, for this.” 

Granny smirks at her and shifts Henry, pressing a kiss to the top of the boys head before passing him to Robin. “I’m going to go get your food. Don’t give her back that baby until she eats at least half of that, you understand me?” 

Robin’s eyes widen when the little baby is put into his arms, but he nods and tells her “Yes, ma'am.” Henry makes a gurgling sound, his tiny fists curling up, his bottom lip trembling. He looks as if he’s about to start wailing so Robin tucks the boy safely against his chest, rubbing little circles on his back. It feels like so long ago that Roland was this small, when it was just him and his own son against the world. After Marian had passed, Roland would only fall asleep on his chest, wriggle his squirmy body against him until he’d found a good spot and settle. Henry does the same now, and Robin looks up when the boy settles to find Regina staring hard at him, the forkful of omelette hovering in front of her face. 

He’s about to speak, apologize for holding her son,  _ something, _ when Roland breaks their silence. 

“‘Scuse me,” he whispers, patting his hand against Regina’s arm. “When you’re done with your bre’fast can I show you the pictures I drew?” 

Regina hesitates a second, looks back and forth between Robin and Henry, before nodding her head and looking back to Roland. “Absolutely. Why don’t you show me now, since your Papa has Henry?” Roland lets out a little cheer and grabs his backpack, climbing back around the booth seat to put himself next to Regina on her side. 

“Not all of them,” Robin cuts in. “There’s… a lot, and that’s putting it nicely. Roland, why don’t you pick out three of your favorites, and then from there if we have time later you can show Regina the rest of them?” 

He pouts but listens, starts rummaging through his bag to find the pictures he’s been most proud of the past few days. Regina’s watching him carefully, letting him concentrate on all of his drawings and a few moments later he pulls out the three winners, laying them carefully on the table. The first one is of her office, with all white and black lines to represent the trees on the wallpaper and then splashes of red flowers she’d already had on her desk the day they visited her, with the purple flowers he’d brought her right next to them. 

In the second they’re all together outside of he and Roland’s house. Roland takes the time to explain it to her, sitting up on his knees in the booth to point out the details, all while Robin cradles her son to his chest, patting the little boy on the back. 

“This one’s my  _ favorite,”  _ Roland tells her, pushing it between them. 

It’s a picture of a forest, with a tent pitched in the center of a few trees. Roland’s in the center of the picture, wearing a dark green cape and some sort of odd tunic-like shirt. Robin is behind him, in the same type of outfit though unlike Roland, he has a bow and arrow in his hands. John and Will are there as well, placed in the background by a fire pit. 

It’s a picture his son has drawn time and time again, and as always Robin’s asked him where he got this strange image from when he saw him stuffing it into his backpack a few days ago, and Roland shrugged again, just as he has each time and insisted that it’s from his dreams. 

The only difference this time is that Regina’s in the picture as well, dressed regally, like a queen. She’s standing over to the left in the drawing, with a crown on her head, her long dark hair scribbled down to her side, her hands on her hips. 

“That’s you,” Roland points, tapping his finger over her figure. “And then there’s me, and Papa, and Uncle John and Uncle Will. You didn’t used to be in my dream but last time you were! You came to our camp and you told Papa that he had to go back into the forest before he got in trouble.” 

“D—did I now,” she chokes, her voice a little lighter than it had been moments ago. Robin starts to ask her if she’s okay, sees how her face has paled since Roland pulled the picture out. She looks nauseous but when he opens his mouth, Henry lets out another gurgle and a small cry, dropping his head hard down onto Robin’s shoulder. 

She turns at that, shaking off whatever had come over her, and her face quickly changes from fear back to that motherly smile she had just given Roland moments ago. “Oh here, he’s probably hungry. Let me…” she trails, digging through her bag, pulling out a bottle and a jar of pureed baby food. Robin doesn’t have a chance to protest when she carefully lifts Roland and switches their places, then gets up to reach over and take Henry from him. 

Robin watches her carefully, how her demeanor has changed since she saw that last picture Roland drew, how her hands shake as she shifts her son and gives him a bottle. 

“Are you okay?” Robin asks, shifting in the booth. 

Her eyes dart to him and she nods, and although he doesn’t believe her he chooses to leave it alone when Granny brings out their food. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Overnights at the firehouse are his least favorite part of his job. 

It pains him to be away from Roland, and although he knows it’s only once a week, and that his son is perfectly safe with Ruby, he still dreads the evenings when he gives his son a kiss on his forehead right before dinner time and doesn’t see him until he gets out of school the next day. Roland seems to love his sleepover nights though, eats more sweets than he needs and gets to stay up a bit past his bedtime when he convinces Ruby to read him another story. 

He and Will spend their Thursday evening watching the Ravens vs. Patriots game, scarfing down pizza and playing cards. They have one call early in the night that results in taking an elderly man to the hospital, and then another around 4:30 in the morning with a small fire. It’s a slow night compared to most and he’s thankful, spends his free time day-dreaming about his attractive breakfast date and her adorable son. 

When they get back from the fire Will calls dibs on sleep and Robin finds himself with his feet propped up on the table, flipping mindlessly through a novel. He turns the page when he hears a hard knock on the front door to the station house, and a quiet “Robin?” filter into the room. 

“Hello?” he calls out, dropping his book onto the table, making his way to the door. 

When he sees her, his heart cracks. Regina looks positively exhausted, her hair up in a messy knot on the top of her head. She’s wearing a hoodie that engulfs her and a pair of black leggings, with simple slip on keds on her feet. Her make-up is non-existent and she looks nothing like the composed woman he’d seen two days ago. 

She looks like a true mum, absolutely  _ beautiful, _ and his heart swells at the sight. 

“Regina are you okay?” he asks, coming up to her. She’s got Henry cradled in her arms and she’s shaking her head, her eyes squeezed shut. 

“He’s running a fever and— there’s just so many options for medicines and he’s so small, I don’t know what to do. He’s been crying all night and his body’s so hot, he’s just in a diaper under this,” she says, gesturing to the blanket he’s swaddled in. “I’m failing at this, he’s only been with me for a week and he’s already sick, and he’s so upset, I just— I can’t—” 

“Shh,” he whispers, holding his hands out. “We have children’s motrin here, let me take him so you can sit down, and I’ll go grab some. It’s in the back of the ambulance, okay?” 

Regina nods and she falls back into one of the chairs they have set up around a table in the main room. Robin takes Henry from her, presses his lips to the boys forehead, feeling his temperature the old-fashioned way. His eyes close for a moment and he clutches the boy to his chest, and when his eyes open he looks across and sees Regina staring at him, her hands wringing the sleeves of her sweatshirt. “He’s going to be okay darling. Don’t worry.” 

Robin shifts Henry so he’s secure in the crook of his elbow and makes his way over to the ambulance, pulling the door open. Henry’s cranky in his arms, his bottom lip trembling, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Shh, it’ll be alright buddy,” he whispers, reaching into the ambulance for his bag. He opens it and shifts through, finding the children’s motrin and his children’s thermometer, tucking them safely in his hand. “Don’t worry little guy, we’ll get you feeling better in no time.”

When he gets back to Regina she has her head dropped down onto the table, her legs bouncing beneath her. She hears him come in and her head pops up, wiping quickly at the tears under her eyes. “Did you find some?” 

Robin nods and passes her Henry, watching as she cuddles him against her chest and presses kisses to the top of his head. “He’s still warm,” she whispers, her voice trembling. Robin uses the thermometer to take his temperature, jotting down the number on his left forearm with the pen from his uniform. 

“When Roland was that little he ran the worst fevers. We’d be out and it was like he would contract them within moments. He was so fussy too, he’d cry, his lip would tremble and it was heartbreaking to see how hurt he was. I felt like a failure every time it would happen, like I was the worst father for even letting him get sick. It’s hard to see your child suffering, even when it’s something temporary.” 

She nods and her eyes never leave him as he measures out the medicine in the syringe. “He’s not going to like this, and he’ll probably cry, but I promise it’ll help. Have you given him a bath? That could cool him off. They make this swaddle that you can put him in so he’s strapped to your chest all secure, that way you can still use your arms and it’s not so heavy. Pedialyte helps a  _ ton _ too.” He steps across the room and kneels down in front of her chair. Without thinking he drops his hand holding the syringe to her thigh, his other coming up to brush back the hair on Henry’s head. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, carefully shifting Henry from her arm, cradling the cranky boy into his own. 

She’s quiet as he gives Henry the medicine and he cries out, his wails echoing through the brick walls of the firehouse. Robin drops the syringe to the table and lifts Henry against his shoulder, patting his back, rubbing soothing circles over his skin. “Don’t worry buddy, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he coddles, his eyes flashing back up to her. 

“You though, Regina, are  _ you  _ okay?” 

“You’re so much better at this than me,” she whispers, her fingers twitching against her thighs. “His fever started and he was just so upset, so hurt and tired and nothing I’ve done all night has helped. He just, he’s been crying so much and every time I thought that  _ maybe  _ he was okay, that he’d fallen asleep or something, he just woke back up and cried even more.” Regina drops her head into her hands and lets out a shaky breath, her fingers scratching at the back of her head, mussing up her hair. “I’m so tired.” 

Robin smiles, reaching his free hand up, wrapping her shaking hand up into his own. “Look at me,” he whispers, waiting moments until she looks up at him, eyes rimmed red. She licks her lips and looks at Henry, and he can see as her mind runs rampid before she finally looks back at him. “You’re a new mum. This feeling is completely normal.” She starts to say something but he shakes his head and squeezes her hand, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles. 

“When Roland was born, Marian had to go on a work trip a few months in. I’d been taking care of him too but Marian had gotten sick, and I’d picked up extra shifts at the station to help offset the cost of bills. So she leaves, and it’s just Roland and I, for a week. The first day wasn’t so bad, but then by day two he wanted nothing to do with me, and by the third he had a 101 degree fever and he  _ hated _ me. He cried for hours and nothing worked, until I calmed down. Thankfully, Granny had realized how tired I was and how upset I was, and she scooped him right up and just gave me a couple of hours. You don’t have to do this alone, even if you are a single mum. It’s hard, having this little boy who is all yours, who you’re responsible for. They’re your whole world and for the longest time, you’re their whole world too.” 

She nods and a single tear starts to fall, but she quickly uses her free hand to wipe it away. “I’m sorry I came in here with all this. I was going to go to Granny too, like you said, but it was too late and she’s going to have an early morning with the diner. And then,” she pauses, looking away from him. “I may have ran a few town reports and pulled a few strings to see where you work and what you do the other day, after we had breakfast.” 

His eyebrow arches and he smirks, grinning at her. “You keeping tabs on me Madam Mayor?” 

She gets a little bit of spark back in her when she grins back, a blush rising in her cheeks. “You intrigued me, and I— I was making sure that if I was about to let someone into my life, it was a respectable person.” 

“And do you find me respectable?” 

She darts her tongue out and licks her lips again and his gaze falls, watching as she sucks in a deep breath and the flush rises up her neck and to her cheeks once more. Even in a hoodie and leggings with two hours of sleep he finds her brilliant and beautiful. “You’re pretty great on paper. In person too, it seems.” 

He shifts Henry to his other arm and rubs his back, feels his breath start to even out. “You’re pretty great in person too, Regina, even if you don’t think you are.” Robin carefully stands and regretfully takes his hand from hers. “He’s asleep.” 

“You’re a life-saver,” she sighs, standing up. She looks so small without her heels on, lost in her Storybrooke University sweatshirt. The sleeves are rolled up, cuffed at her wrists, and she sucks in steadying breath, looking up at him. It’s 5:15 now, only forty-five minutes since she showed up at the firehouse, but she already looks more like herself than when she walked in. “I can take him home now. I’m sorry for taking your sleep from you—”

“Nonsense,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve done nothing of the sort. It’s my job to help people, whether that be in an ambulance or in the station. You can always call me if you need anything. I was thinking though, if you’d like, I can help you get some things for him at the store that will help with the fever, and to help soothe him. It’s always nice to get advice from another parent and not the internet.” He sees the worried look on her face, how she stares at her son and lets out a shuddered breath, and he knows how she feels, that residual worry when your kid is sick and you’re by yourself. Before he can help himself he cuts back in, adding “And then I, if you’d like… I can stick around with you, to make sure his fever stays down?” 

She looks down at her shoes, shoves her hands deep into her pockets and he takes a second to realize that he’s imposing far too much, inviting himself into her home, but her next question stops him from taking back everything he’d just said. “Aren’t you still on your shift?” 

“We’re done at 5:30 actually. I usually go home and crash, let Ruby take Roland to school and then pick him up at the end of his school day, but I can easily come by your house and let you take a break.” 

He can see her contemplating his offer, and he wants to ensure her that he’s not trying to push, not trying to force her to let him into her life. Before he can stop herself he reaches out and takes her hand, squeezing it. “Can I tell you something?” 

“Even if I said no, would it stop you?” She plays, looking down at their joined hands. 

He laughs, tells her ‘no, not really’, and then squeezes her hand in his, waiting until she looks up. “Don’t let yourself think you have to do this alone. Being a single parent is the hardest job in the world, and you shouldn’t think that accepting help makes you less of a good mum. If it hadn't been for Granny and Ruby, I still wouldn’t be able to take care of Roland the way I can now. It takes a village to raise a kid. Don’t force yourself to do it alone.” 

She takes a deep breath and straightens her spine, lifting her hand from where it’s secure in his to brush her fingers over Henry’s back, her thumb circling against his skin. “Okay,” she whispers. “I need to go to the store and pick up more motrin and that other stuff you told me about. I can carry him though, I’m sure he’s hot.” 

Robin shakes his head, shifting him. “It’s nice holding a baby again. Roland’s too big for this now, and it’s bringing me back to all the times that he was this tiny and quiet.” 

Regina smiles and tells him ‘okay’, tucking her arms up, crossing them over her chest. “Let me go get a onesie from the car, that way he’s not just wrapped up in a blanket at the store,” she says, turning toward the door. “I’ll be right back.” 

.::.

Get yourself  _ together  _ Regina. 

She’s too flustered, too emotional and it’s so unlike her that it has her skin crawling. It’s no help that Robin’s in his EMT uniform cradling her sick son to his chest like he’s some sort of super hero, all attractive with his thick arms wrapped securely around her whimpering baby boy. 

She shouldn’t be thinking about him like this right now, not when  _ she  _ looks like  _ this _ . 

As the Evil Queen she never would have allowed anyone to see her in this state, even those closest to her. Even when she was in bed with someone it never went past that, they were there to scratch her itch, bring her over that glorious precipe before she promptly kicked them out, removed her makeup and found peaceful slumber. Letting someone see her as anything less than perfect was a sign of weakness that her mother had drilled into her from a very young age. 

As Henry had spent the night crying, his wails echoing through the empty house and bring tears to her eyes, she felt low. Lower than she had when she put that poisonous snake in Leopold’s bed, even lower than when she had ripped her own father’s heart out of his chest for her “noble” cause. She felt weak, digging through the file she’d had her secretary draw up on him, her finger tracing over the finely typed print of his work schedule. When Tink had asked her why she needed it she made up some ridiculous excuse, telling her that she wanted to have someone on hand for Henry in case something went wrong. She hadn’t actually expected to  _ need _ him to help Henry, she just wanted to know… more. Something,  _ anything _ about him that could give her an idea of who he was in their past life. 

Instead she had broken down and drove to the firehouse, swallowed up her own self-pride and gone to him. Everything she looked up had told her that Henry was practically dying, that his fever would spike and he could have a seizure or lose consciousness, enough to put her over the edge and make her panic. 

And now he has the audacity to be back inside, doing  _ exactly _ what she had wanted him to do, taking care of Henry, but looking like  _ that _ and it has her swooning. 

She hates it. 

She grabs the pale green onesie from the diaper bag in the front seat and goes back inside, trying desperately to compose herself. The fear she had felt on her way in has dissipated into something different, a warm feeling in her heart that she hasn’t felt since Daniel, and she tamps it down just as quickly as it worms its way into her brain and deeper into her heart. Caring for someone besides Henry isn’t on her agenda for the near future— or ever, really. She doesn’t deserve it, hasn’t earned the right to let her heart open back up once again. 

Henry’s her only exception. He’s been the brightest light since she picked him up in Boston two weeks ago, and she has Roland to thank for that. Without him she never would have gone through with it, never would have gotten the courage to drive up and finalize the adoption papers that she’d left pending for so long. 

Regina opens the door and her eyes fall upon Robin, singing softly to Henry, swaying back and forth with the sleeping baby in his arms. Her fist tightens around the onesie and she lets out a shuddered breath at the sight, her stomach clenching. 

Robin looks up and grins, finishing the last few words of the made-up song he’s singing. “Sorry,” he whispers, stepping across the station floor toward her. “He started to wake up and it’s so tough getting them back down, and I just hopped right into ‘dad mode’ and tried calming him down. It used to work wonders with Roland when he was this age.” 

“Don’t mind me,” she laughs, reaching out to brush the tips of her fingers over Henry’s hair. “If you can keep him asleep then please do. He needs his rest, poor thing.” 

“I’m going to just run and tell Will that I have to head out a few minutes early. Here,” he tells her, passing her Henry. “He’s upstairs on one of the beds. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

While he’s gone she changes Henry, still asleep, into his green onesie, wrapping him back up in the blanket she had brought him in. He starts to stir, his dark brown eyes opening on hers. “Hi there,” she whispers, her voice light as her son giggles and wiggles an arm out of his swaddle, waving it around. “Look at you, feeling better already.” 

Henry gurgles and rubs at his eyes with his hand, a red mark appearing on the edge of his cheek when he pulls his hand away. Her breath stutters and she sighs, reaching out to take his hand, looking at his nails as Robin comes back down the stairs with a backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“We’re all good, if you’re ready to go. He awake?” 

Regina nods, carefully tucking Henry’s arm back into the swaddle. Robin peers over her shoulder and smiles down at him, his finger coming out to trace over the scratch on his cheek. “His nails are too long,” he says in an entirely un-manly way, his sandy hair dropping onto his forehead as he looks down. “They sell these mittens too, that you can put over his hands so that he doesn’t scratch so much. He’ll tug them off soon enough, but it at least protects him for a while.” 

“You know so much about babies… none of this was written in that ridiculous book the adoption agency gave me.” 

Robin smiles at her and shrugs, his hand coming up, warm against her lower back as he guides her to the door. “Marian was much better at this than me. I’ve learned a lot more since she passed, but every day is something new. Roland’s always coming home with new things, questions he has or things he’s learned. It’s amazing to watch them grow up from these tiny humans that are so dependent on you for everything, to this  _ person  _ that makes their own choices and wants to explore the world.” As he talks they head out to her car, and he double checks the security of her car seat while she unwraps Henry from his blanket, then straps him in once Robin seems satisfied all is in order. 

“Roland came downstairs last week wearing his Captain America costume. It was around dinner time, and he seemed to have taken it upon himself to also change when I said he needed to wash his hands before we ate. When I asked him why he just shrugged and told me he was ‘feeling super’ and that was that. And I thought about it, what my own father would have done had I showed up to a dinner in a costume as a kid, and I realized where’s the harm in letting him be a kid? If he wants to climb trees or read books, be a superhero or even a princess, who am I to stop his creativity?” 

Regina’s behind the wheel now but she steals a glance at him, biting her bottom lip. He uses his hands when he talks, waving them around wildly in front of him as he trails on with adorable anecdotes of Roland’s childhood, catching her eye every few words, flashing her that magnificent smile that makes her stomach flutter. 

It’s oddly domestic, driving to the pharmacy with him at six in the morning like they’re some married couple. It’s eating at the back of her brain, that part of him that she can’t quite pinpoint. She wishes she could just ask him, figure out who he was in the Enchanted Forest. Roland’s drawing had unsettled her. It was a clear depiction of her as the Evil Queen, one that she hadn’t seen in the twenty-some years since she brought everyone to Storybrooke, and it shocked her. He shouldn’t have any memories of their past life, and if Roland was dreaming of a time that should be behind them… 

If his memories are trapped and fighting their way free, then who else is starting to remember? 

She pulls up outside of the pharmacy, tapping her hands against the steering wheel as he finishes another story of Roland’s antics as a toddler. 

“Do you want me to run in and grab the things you need?” He asks, turning around to look at Henry asleep in his carseat. “I don’t want you to have to wake him if you don’t need to.” 

“I’d rather see everything and pick your brain about them, if you don’t mind?” 

Robin grins at her and nods his head like Roland had done just a few days before. “Of course, let’s go.” 

As they head into the store, Robin scoops Henry from her arms and cradles him against his chest. She eyes him carefully, trying to take her son back, but he chuckles and curls Henry closer to him. 

“Give me my opportunity for baby cuddles Madam Mayor. I’m deprived of them now that Roland’s in school. He’s starting to think his Dad isn’t as cool anymore.” 

“You’re an EMT. I’m sure he thinks you’re plenty cool,” she laughs, walking inside with him. They head straight toward the aisle of baby supplies, and Regina can feel her face fall, staring at all the things before her. 

She had read all the baby books they had at the library about babies, poured through them late into each night before she was able to pick Henry up. There was so much about being a parent that she hadn’t realized before she was lucky enough to adopt her son and the books hadn’t been any help what-so-ever, which was coming back to her as a grim reminder as they stood in the aisle of the grocery store. 

Robin wraps one arm around Henry, holding him securely, his other hand coming up to wrap around her waist to guide her down the aisle. His palm is warm against her hip and it draws all of her concentration away from what he’s saying, shifts her focus to the feel of his firm fingers against her sweatshirt, his presence beside her. 

She shakes her head a little, snaps out of the trance and listens intently as he explains the differences in the types of products before them. She grabbed a basket on the way in and he drops the Pedialyte and Motrin into the bin, then turns her toward another section of teethers and creams. He’s still talking but she gets lost again, watching the curve of his jaw as he speaks, his strong arm wrapped around her son, his other hand resting against the small of her back. He’s such a  _ pleasant  _ distraction, and while she knows everything he’s saying is important she can’t stop herself from letting her mind wander, wondering what it would be like to run her lips along that delicious stubble against his jaw, to carefully unbutton each notch on his shirt and peel the fabric from his skin. 

There’s something about him being this ridiculously caring, guiding her through the grocery store and not making her feel like an idiot, all while holding her son that is seriously twisting her brain, and she’s not all that upset about it. 

Regina reaches out and grabs the Baby Rub from the shelf, turning the bottle over in her hand, glancing down to scan over the label. His hand is  _ still  _ against her spine, drawing up and down the fabric so slowly, oozing comfort into her. It’s amazing to her how okay with it she is— had they been in the Enchanted Forest, had she still donned her Evil Queen persona and brought terror and fear to those around her, no one would have dared to touch her without her permission. But it has been so long since she’s felt any sort of affection, since someone other than Granny cared about her well-being and it’s nice to just feel safe, for once. 

They go through the checkout at the store and she buys the basket full of items that he’d picked out, eyeing him up as he stands by the door, gently rocking Henry back and forth. He’s got the ‘parent sway’ down perfect, and her son’s steady breathing and closed eyes makes her smile, has her mind wandering to a life that she’ll never have. 

The cashier coughs and sputters out a frazzled “Madam Mayor”, and with that she’s immediately snapped out of her trance, her face transforming back into her regular stoic gaze. She hears a chuckle and turns her head, eyes narrowing as Robin laughs at the now nervous cashier, shaking his head at them. 

“What?” Regina asks, trying her best to look like the regal professional she always has been, and though her Storybrooke University and well-worn leggings make her feel a little softer than she usually appears, the poor teenager puts the rest of the things in the bag and hands it to her, wishing her a wonderful day, all while pointedly avoiding eye contact. 

“You traumatized that poor boy,” Robin teases as they head back towards her car. She glares at him from the side, a smirk spreading from her lips when he nudges her with his hip. “Do you always try and give off the essence that you’re a little terrifying?” 

“I’m not terrifying,” she mumbles, huffing out a breath. “I just… like to get my point across in a manner that  _ sometimes  _ can be misconstrued.” 

“I’ve seen you in those town meetings  _ Madam Mayor,” _ he says, strapping Henry back into his car seat. “You’ve brought grown men to tears.”

“Not when they haven’t deserved it,” she shrugs. “I don’t like it when people push back for no reason or treat me like I’m nothing more than some little woman in charge. I’ve always been able to hold my own, for as long as I can remember.” They climb into the car and she hears him chuckle, shoots him a glare. “What?” 

“You’re the furthest thing from a ‘little woman’. The power that you hold over a room is captivating. I think it’s why no one’s dared run against you all these years, past the fact that there’s really no reason to. You’re a brilliant mayor, and commanding and smart at that. It’s the perfect combination.” 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me,” she teases, waving a hand over herself. “And I know very well that you’re not, especially at 6 in the morning, with me looking like this.” 

“I think you look amazing,” Robin shrugs, and while she’s questioning where his boldness has come from in the last hour, she can’t quite say she’s mad about it. She doesn’t know what to say to that though, and when they fall into a comfortable silence, she licks her lips and grins at the fact that he didn’t take it back. 

When they get back to the house they head inside, trading minor words back and forth. He looks slightly uncomfortable in her home but she reassures him that she wants him here, until she looks around and realizes what a mess her house is right now. There are baby supplies  _ everywhere,  _ covering most of her countertops, blankets and onesies and strewn about on the chairs and some even on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, rummaging around the room to try and tidy up a bit. She’s got Henry tucked securely in one arm, using her free hand to grab whatever items she can reach, pushing them into a basket on the floor. “It’s just— no one’s been here in a while and— I swear, I’m usually not this messy.” 

He shrugs, reaching out to grab her free hand, stopping her. “This is nothing, don’t worry,” he promises, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “When’s the last time you got any sleep?” 

She stills, staring quietly at their joined hands. “I—” she stutters, looking back up toward him. “A full night? Months. But with Henry, it’s been about two weeks since I slept more than an hour or two consecutively.” 

He shakes his head and steps right up close to her, his chest practically brushing her own. His arms come out and he delicately scoops Henry from her, lifting her son so he’s tight against his shoulder, his face curled into Robin’s neck. 

“Go get some sleep Regina.” 

She starts to argue, wants to insist that she doesn’t need a break, that she’s perfectly capable of taking care of her son on her own, even though he’s told her countless times this morning that she  _ doesn’t  _ need to be the hero of her own story, but the thought of her sinfully comfortable couch and the ability to close her eyes for a moment without worrying that her son will contract the plague takes over and she nods. 

Without thinking though, she surges forward, wrapping her arms tightly around him, pressing herself into his gorgeously sculpted chest and his soft uniform, hugging him. The action surprises even herself but she’s so thankful for him, for everything he’s done for her this morning, the momentary relief that he’s giving her, and he deserves something in return. 

She feels him still, his hand hovering before he tucks it securely against her back, drawing her close to him. 

“Thank you for all of this,” she tells him. She sucks in a breath and breathes him in, his warmth surrounding her, making her press her forehead to his chest. She feels so safe in his arms, safer than she’s felt in years, and she knows it’s inappropriate but she gives herself just another few moments with him before she pulls away, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I feel like I’ve known you for a lot longer than just a month.” 

“Some people just click,” he smiles. “Go get some sleep. Let me take care of your boy for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I hope that you're all doing well!

When she wakes an hour later, she feels like a new person. 

She’s curled up in a ball on the couch, tucked under a blanket that she swears wasn’t there when she laid down, her head resting on a pillow against the armrest. Robin and Henry aren’t in her sight and she checks the clock, reads the fluorescent 8:23 on the screen, and drags herself off of the couch, searching for them. 

Regina pads up the staircase after ruling out the kitchen and turns at the top of the steps, making her way into the nursery when she sees them both, and all of her breath rushes out of her. 

Robin is asleep, his head draped against the back of the rocking chair he’s in, his arms wrapped around Henry. Her son’s only in a diaper, his little body pressed tightly against Robin’s chest. 

His bare chest. 

He’s shirtless.

She’s gawking, thankful that he’s asleep and not witness to whatever look she has on her face right now because she  _ knows  _ she can’t stop staring at his stupidly toned arms wrapped around her son. 

His shirt is draped over the side of Henry’s crib, his knee planted against the ground, rocking them back and forth subconsciously. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands; she should probably get Henry from him and put him in his crib, let Robin go home to his own bed and his own son but that means she’d have to touch him. There’s no way she can get Henry from him without her fingertips brushing against his arms or his chest and this is  _ not _ the time for her to be thinking about what his skin might feel like against her own. 

She pads softly into the room, hesitating, leaning forward. “Robin,” she whispers, tapping his shoulder. His chest is warm but then she brushes her hand over Henry’s forehead, and for the first time since yesterday evening, her boy’s body isn’t hot to the touch. 

Robin doesn’t stir even after she says his name a second and then a third time, so she brushes her hand against his arms and his chest, carefully extracting Henry from his arms. Her son doesn’t stir, just nuzzles his face into her. She turns and grabs the thermometer from the dresser, checking Henry’s 99 degree temperature. She dots kisses along his forehead, tucking him safely back into his crib, running her hand over the swell of his belly before turning back to Robin. 

God, his chest is pretty. 

His arms have fallen down to his sides and she notices the faint outline of a lion tattooed on his arm. It’s familiar but she can’t place it, can’t piece together where it’s from. There had been that man that Tink had led her to long ago but his tattoo was different, had been the emblem of a family chest— a lion surrounded by thick black lines, and just as she remembers the man in the bar that could have changed her life, Robin begins to stir, his eyes blinking open. 

“Henry,” he gasps out, sitting up straight in the chair but she drops her hand to his shoulder and squeezes lightly, her hand pressing him back down. 

“He’s in the crib.” 

Robin reaches up and scrubs his hands over his face, dropping his head back. He starts to apologize but she can’t stop herself, blurting out a quick, “You’re shirtless,” before throwing her hand over her mouth. 

He chuckles, looking down at himself before grinning back up at her. “You’re right.” 

“Did you just… decide,  _ ‘oh, let me take a nap in my friend’s house with her son without a shirt on’  _ while I was downstairs?” 

He’s still grinning and she bites out a sharp “What?” 

“You called us  _ friends _ ,” he smirks, running his hands over his thighs. “And no, Madam Mayor, there’s this urban myth that skin to skin contact is helpful for babies with fevers, and it used to help with Roland so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give Henry a little of the same.” 

“It seems to have helped,” she nods, looking at the thermometer still in her hand. “His fever dropped a little since this morning.” 

“Well since it seems to be so effective, perhaps you should take your shirt off too,” he shrugs, shooting her a teasing smirk. She can feel her cheeks heating again, his obvious flirting making her cross her hands over her chest, shielding herself. 

“In your dreams,” she fires back, licking her lips as he stills, his back turned to her, the thick muscles of shoulders protruding as he reaches his hand out to grab his shirt. There’s a white undershirt that he grabs first, tossing his uniform back over the railing. ‘ _ Ha’  _ she thinks, a little satisfied wiggle working its way through her body. ‘ _ Take that, Locksley.’ _

“I don’t think you want to know the contents of my dreams,” he quips. He stretches his arms above his head and tugs the shirt on, the muscles of his chest contracting with the movement of his arms. He shoots her a look when the shirt is over his head, his sandy hair ruffled, a shit-eating grin on his lips. Robin reaches back and grabs the uniform, slipping his arms through the sleeves of his button up. 

There’s something so  _ hot  _ about watching a man button up his shirt that it makes her mouth dry, her eyes glued to his chest as it disappears behind fabric, his nimble fingers fastening each button as he works his way down. 

Her tongue darts out and she licks her lips, shamelessly watching him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“You alright Madam Mayor?” 

“Fine” she chokes out, clearing her throat on a cough. That smug, stupidly attractive bastard. He has this smirk on his lips that, if she were still the Queen, if she held that power over people like he swears she still does, it would have her curling her hand over his jaw and dragging him down just to kiss that smirk off of his face. “Just fine.” 

She watches as his chest disappears and he straightens up, stretching his arms above his head. “I should probably get going,” he tells her, twisting his torso, cracking his back. “I’d like to get back and get a solid nap in before Roland gets out of school. He’s a bit rambunctious after having not spent a day with me.” 

“Makes sense,” she tells him, following him from the room and down the staircase. “He’s had a long day and he misses his Papa.” 

He flashes her a smirk from in front of her on the steps before making his way fully down, standing in the foyer of her home. “I hope Henry starts to feel a bit better. From the looks of it, I’d say he’ll be fully recovered in no time.” 

“Thanks for everything,” she says, pushing her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. She feels uncomfortable, doesn’t know how to fully thank him for all that he’s done— for taking time out of his morning to keep her from going insane. “I’m not sure how to repay you for all of this.” 

“Have breakfast with us again soon? Roland’s been asking about you and Henry, always asks about you, really. He’d be thrilled to see you both.” 

“Just Roland?” 

Robin drops his sheepish grin and shrugs his shoulders, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Maybe me too, a bit.” 

“As long as Henry’s fever stays down, I think that breakfast sounds perfect.” 

.::.

He leaves her home with the biggest grin on his face, practically skipping up the street toward his home. It’s a crisp winter morning, the snow collected in messy piles on the ground from where the plows and shovels had pushed it out of the way. He doesn’t mind the cold though, not with how his morning has been. 

_ God,  _ she looked so good. 

Motherhood is beautiful on her. 

He hadn’t expected the stoic, regal mayor to come to the fire station, admit that she had looked him up, and then ask him for help. He was oh so grateful however, and while he was relieved that Henry was feeling better he would’ve given up a lot to spend more time with her. 

What little time they did have though was entirely worth it. She was so much more  _ open _ than she had been in their time at the diner, tucking her soft, small body against his broad shoulders in that hug. 

He’s going to have her replaying in his mind, over and over. Her hair, the soft feeling of her hoodie against his fingertips, the way her palms pressed to his sides when she hugged him close. Each labored breath she took as he reassured her that her son would be fine keeps replaying, echoing in his mind as he thinks of her. 

He carries himself up the street and turns into Granny’s, the door jingling overhead, the diner bustling with early Friday morning patrons. 

Granny looks up above her glasses, eyeing him carefully, a slight smirk on her lips as he settles down in the seat that Regina normally occupies. “Morning, Granny.” 

“Locksley,” she nods, pouring him a cup of coffee. “It’s awfully late for you to just be getting off of your morning shift.” She passes the cup across the counter, turning her back to grab a muffin from the case. 

“Ahh, yeah—” he says, sipping the coffee. The liquid burns his tongue, working it’s way down his throat. “We had a late call.” 

“Hmm,” she murmurs, putting two muffins in the bag, one for him and he assumes the other for his son. “That’s interesting. Will was here a few hours ago and said that you’d stepped out, and now you’re coming in the opposite way of the fire station and your house.” 

“I—” Robin stammers, sipping his coffee to give him time. “Yeah, Henry had a fever, so I was helping Mayor Mills to make sure that he was okay.” 

She peers at him over her glasses, nodding her head in a way that he can just tell is condescending. “Sure,” she drawls, passing his check across the counter. “Henry’s sick.” 

“Poor little tyke had a high fever and Regina needed help.” 

“This has nothing to do with the way you’ve been looking at her every morning?”

Robin can feel his cheeks heat, his nerves rapidly firing with every sound of Granny’s inquisitive voice. She sees everything, knows each inch of the town, and while Robin is sure that he could keep his secret from her, he knows the attempt is futile— she probably knows anyhow.  She has wickedly keen senses, and an unmatched ability to sniff out what people are hiding, no matter how hard they try to conceal it. Granny is an extraordinarily  cunning  woman, her ears perking up at the slightest clue, able to interpret even the most vague of details.

“I— I don’t look at her any different,” he shrugs, taking a sip from his drink. “She’s a lovely person, and she’s got a good relationship with Roland. She’s a friend.” 

“Friends don’t take friends to the store at 6 in the morning to shop for baby supplies,” Granny bites back. “You’re not hiding anything from me, Locksley. Just remember that if you hurt that girl, if you so much as think you’ll make her a conquest in some game, I’ll be after you. She’s got a big heart,  _ maybe _ a little misunderstood, but she’s also a spitfire. She’ll chew you up and toss you out faster than you can think if you toy with her.” 

“I know that.” 

Granny nods, eyes him over before snatching his money up off of the counter. “Now, get yourself out of here, and go take a shower. You smell like her perfume.” 

.::.

A month and a half has passed, and they’ve established a routine that he positively loves. 

Ever since Henry got better, they’ve started meeting in the diner for breakfast, sharing stories of their upcoming day over coffee and pancakes. Henry’s getting bigger now, sitting upright in his highchair, shoving small cut-up pieces of waffles or scrambled eggs into his mouth each morning. 

Roland’s halfway through his last year of pre-k, starting Kindergarten in the spring, a fact that Robin continues to not want to think about. His son is growing up far too fast— turning 5 on the 18th of this month. His mind is expanding each day as he comes home with new words and ideas, and while he loves the conversations they can have, his boy’s creativity, he also misses those late nights when they could snuggle up on the couch and his son would fall asleep against his chest. 

One thing he loves about their thick, snowed in December, is the amount of time that he’s been able to spend with Regina. 

After Henry’s quick recovery she had surprised him - she didn’t shut him out, she had actually called him that Sunday to thank him over and over for his help, for all of his advice. It was truly nothing, something that he continually reminds her, but she insists on repaying him, inviting him to breakfast that Monday. 

And thus, their daily breakfast dates began. 

Roland always prefers to sit next to her, bounces in his seat and insists on helping with Henry as much as he can. He dotes over the boy, pats him on the head and whispers stories to him that he tells them  _ ‘aren’t for big people’.  _

Robin’s falling more and more for her though, as each day passes. She brings him a sense of joy that he hasn’t felt in so long, one that he last equated with his wife. She’s so smart and such a good mother, doting over both of their boys like Roland is equal to her own, and it makes him practically gawk at her each morning. She’s not afraid to scold Roland, or even himself, for their mistakes, is quick to remind them of the manners they were born with, teases them mercilessly that they act like they were both raised in the woods. She teaches his son how to wield his fork properly, goes out and buys him one of those plastic safety knives to teach him how to use that as well. She’s encouraged Roland to eat more fruits with his breakfast that now he  _ asks  _ Granny for orange slices with his pancakes, and he’s even begun trying the green vegetables he used to so pointedly avoid. 

He’s so grateful for her, each and every day. 

When Marian had been taken from them at such a young age Robin feared for his son's well-being. There’s something about being a mother that he’s not been able to figure out, can’t supplement himself in for that loving touch or that soft, caring expression that Regina has already mastered. 

This particular December morning is a bitterly cold one, and Roland is being an absolute grump. His boy woke up on the wrong side of the bed, stomping his feet and crossing his arms over his chest at the prospect of having to go to school today, and Robin is tired of it. 

“Roland this isn’t up for argument, you have to go to school today. You only have one week until your birthday, and then right after that is Christmas break and then you don’t have to go for two whole weeks. Now, go pick out your clothes.” 

“Nuh-uh.” Rolands bottom lip sticks out far in his pout, his brown curls falling over his eyes. He needs a haircut, something that Regina’s taken to remind him every time they see her. “Don’t wanna. I wanna see Miss Mayor.” 

“You’re not going to see her or Henry unless you get dressed and we leave right now, or we’ll be too late and you’ll have to go right to school.” 

“No!” Roland shouts, running past Robin from their spot in the hallway and back into his room. He jumps up into his bed and ducks himself under the covers, kicking his feet against the mattress. 

Robin sighs, pushes his hands into his hair and then presses his palm to his forehead. “Roland,” he calls out, padding into his sons room. He sits down on the edge of his bed and reaches out, scooping Roland up and out of his blanket cocoon, and into his arms. 

“I gotta see R’gina,” he mumbles into Robin’s chest, his tears soaking the shirt. “I gotta.” 

“But you can’t see Regina if you don’t get dressed for school. You can’t cry your way out of school today Roland.” 

“B— but, but I gotta make sure she’s okay!” 

He pushes Roland’s hair out of his face but his son still buries his head into his chest, sniffling away his tears. “She was scary in my dream Papa, and had long hair and… and… I want R’gina.” 

He’s thrown off by Roland’s tears, and though each part of his parenting tells him that he shouldn’t give into his boy’s tantrum, something isn’t right. He encourages Roland to get dressed, promises him that they can go to the diner, and though he’s still in trouble for trying to skip out on school, Roland sniffles and wipes his tears, reluctantly agreeing to get changed. They’re already running late and it takes them a little longer than usual to get Roland dressed in his snow boots and his thick coat. The snow had come down in droves the night before, coating the ground with more white fluff than he could ever remember. 

When they get to the diner, Roland has his small mitten-covered hand tucked safely in Robin’s, his tears long forgotten after their walk. Robin spots Regina and Henry before Roland does, gives her a small wave, his heart flipping when she does the same back and gifts him a warm smile. 

She stands at the same moment that Roland projects himself at her legs, his face burying into her legs. “I—” she pauses, cupping the back of his head. “You two are late?” It’s not fully a question but her voice raises an octave higher at the end, her gaze back and forth between him and Roland. “Is everything alright?” She mouths at him, but he shrugs. 

“We had a bit of a rough morning, and Roland insisted that he see you today. Something about a dream he had?” 

“Hmm,” she murmurs, kneeling down to Rolands height. He throws himself into her open arms, his face buried against her neck, his mittened hands covering her skin. “What’s wrong baby?” 

He shakes his head and she glances up at Robin, pursing her lips and shrugging her shoulders. She tucks an arm beneath Roland’s bum, lifting the light boy into her arms as she stands back up. Henry chooses that moment to let out an excited squeal, his fists hitting the table attached to his high chair. 

“Hi there buddy,” Robin smiles, lifting the boy from the chair. “Were we not giving you enough attention?” 

Henry babbles, his face lighting up and another loud squeal echoing out of his small body as he sees Robin’s face. Henry’s fists beat against his chest and Robin grins, leans in to blow kisses against his cheeks. When he turns though, Regina and Roland are gone. He looks back to Granny who points toward the back hallway, and then tells him she’ll have his coffee in a moment. 

He sits down in the booth and props Henry up in his lap, chattering mindlessly with the kid about the color on his shirt, wipes the remnants of egg he has stuck to his cheeks. Granny comes over and he orders for them after seeing Regina’s half-forgotten plate already on the table. He doesn’t want to push or rush but when she comes back with Roland settled on her hip, his thick curls mushed against her cheek, his hat, coat, and mittens tucked safely in her hand, he can’t keep the concern off of his face. 

“He okay?” Robin asks, turning Henry so he’s settled back against his chest. 

“Yeah,” she smiles, her voice soft. “Right, baby?” 

Roland nods, wiping at the tear tracks that had stained his cheeks before. “Sorry I was being grumpy, Papa,” he whispers, lifting his head up. 

“What else?” Regina leads, setting his winter clothing down in the booth before settling down with Roland in her lap. He’s got his head dropped down to her shoulder again, his palm flat against her chest, resting over her heart. 

“I’ll go to school today” Roland continues, sniffling again. “Thanks for lettin’ me come see Miss Mayor.” 

“Apology accepted,” Robin smiles, watching Regina as she carefully eyes him and Henry over. It feels so natural, each of them holding the other’s children, and he pulls himself out of the fantasy of them around their own breakfast table in her big white house before he can even let himself dream for a moment. “I told Granny to make you something special.” 

Roland just nods and whispers a quiet  _ ‘thank you’,  _ his eyes fluttering closed against Regina’s neck, his hand still against her heart. 

“He had a bad dream,” Regina starts before he can even begin to ask. “I was apparently evil, wearing this regal get-up with my hair down and I was shooting fireballs. I—” she starts, taking a breath. “He was afraid that something had happened to me, that he needed to stop me from doing something bad.” 

“He thinks himself to be a bit of a hero.” 

Regina smiles softly down at his son, lifting her hand to gently brush the hair from his eyes. “He is, in my mind,” she continues. “I feel for his heart though, he was so worried. That’s why I wanted to let him tell me back in the hallway, so he could let it all out. He was so nervous. He kept putting his hand over my chest, saying things about hearts.” 

“Do you think he’s okay now?” Robin asks, rubbing his own hand aimlessly over Henry’s pudgy belly. 

Regain nods, lifting her fork to take a bite of her long forgotten food. “He’ll be alright.” 

The rest of breakfast passes by in a blur, and by the end of it Roland is back to his usual self, bouncing on his knees in the seat beside her, chattering on in between bites of the french toast Granny had made special for him. It’s nothing more than french toast with powdered sugar and thinly sliced strawberries, but he won’t give up that it’s  _ “my special breakfast”  _ and Granny made it for him because she loves him.

She does, though. They all do, each and every member of this whirlwind of a town adores his son more than he can even fathom. 

Breakfast is over and he looks over, catches a glance at Regina as she leans against the counter, wallet in her hand. They’ve taken to taking turns paying for breakfast, after a number of futile arguments over whose turn it was, which would inevitably turn into Granny telling them to settle their differences in a “sweatier way”, one that always left her with a blush each time Granny would call them out on their flirting. 

The curve of her ass looks bloody  _ brilliant _ in her pant-suit though. 

He wants to date her. 

He wants to take her out to a real dinner, without their children, hold her hand and touch her skin. And he especially wants to kiss her goodnight. 

Henry’s content in his high chair playing with a baby spoon, and Roland is sufficiently distracted by the paper he’s drawing on, so Robin steals his opportunity and gets up, meeting her at the counter. 

“Hey,” he starts, and he shoves his trembling hands into his pockets. He has no reason to be nervous— it’s not like they haven’t been to dinner before, or gone on outings around town with their children. But even still, he feels like a schoolboy asking the prettiest girl to the dance, and all coherent thought goes out of his head when she finishes signing the receipt and turns to him. 

“What’s up?” She asks, leaning her hip against the counter. 

“Would you— um, you care to join me for dinner tonight?” 

“Don’t we usually end up having dinner together?” She teases, her hands coming up to fiddle with the hem of her blazer. 

“Well, true,” he continues. “But I was thinking more of a childless dinner, maybe something a little more… nice? I’d love a meal that didn’t consist of macaroni and cheese and dinosaur shaped items.” 

She nods, glancing over at the table where his son is talking animatedly to her son, then looks back at him. Granny has joined both boys at the table, sitting down in the booth seat with Henry tucked comfortably in her lap, Roland pinned to her side. “Why don’t you come over? I can cook us something way better than kids' food.” 

He can feel the beaming smile spread across his face, matching the beautiful grin on her own. “Sounds perfect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that you all enjoy! Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! There is a rating change from this chapter forward, so you know!

This is just nothing more than just a casual dinner between two friends. 

It’s been on repeat through her head the entire day, started as soon as they secured Granny to watch the boys for them and she flashed Regina that blasted smirk that she  _ knows _ makes her just a bit comfortable and offered to keep them overnight. 

She dropped Henry off at the daycare and made her way to her office around 10, though she spent the day at her desk contemplating what this whole dinner would mean for them, rather than getting anything productive done. 

He couldn’t  _ actually _ want to date her. 

Right? 

She’s not the best person overall, not that he knows that. He doesn’t know of her past, of each horrible decision she made that ultimately brought them here to Storybrooke in the first place, of each heart she ripped out and crushed just so she could feel alive. 

It’s all starting to come to light though, and the more she realizes that, the more terrified she becomes. 

Roland’s starting to remember. 

The drawing had been the first step, the shock at seeing her long dark hair and that Evil Queen persona brought back to life had unsettled her but she let it go, figured that this would happen over the years. But his dream, though,  _ that _ unnerved her more than she wants to admit. 

When she’d taken Roland back into the hallway, propped him up on that ledge by the jukebox and let him tell her all about the nightmare he’d had, it took everything in her power not to let her fear out. 

Roland had dreamt that she was the Evil Queen, that she had infiltrated the village that they were living in. He told her he’d been hiding in a tent with his Uncle John, and watching from the opening for his Papa to come back from hunting, when he had seen her. Well, the imaginary version that he believed to have dreamt of her. He told her that she was yelling and angry, and that her hands were shooting fire like the superheroes he saw pictures of in his books. He sounded so scared and she felt awful for making him go through it again, making him recount all of the details of the nightmare he’d woke from, but she needed to know. 

Because this wasn’t just a dream… it was a memory. 

A memory that she had blocked out long ago. So many of her raids had ended the same, with her using fire to antagonize the members of whatever village she had found herself in that day, but that day had sat heavy in her heart, even after she had done much,  _ much  _ worse in the name of justice. It was the first day she had ripped out someone’s heart to torment them with it. 

Thankfully, Roland’s dream had stopped at that. He said his Uncle John had pulled him back into the tent as soon as her hand went into the man’s chest, and that’s when he had woken up. 

She loathes to admit it, but she really is an awful person.

Even at her worst, she never wanted a child to see what she had done. There were moments when it was inevitable, when she was too wrapped up in her own head— her own sick, twisted mind that she didn’t care who saw what. But now, just the mere thought that Roland could have watched her like that, that he could have been out in the field, or worse, that she could have ripped Robin’s own heart out of his chest in front of his son has her panicking. Being around them now shouldn’t be an option. She should cut this off, tell them that she’s no good, that she can’t let herself have friends or a… a  _ family  _ that cares about her. But she doesn’t want to. 

It’s selfish, but she needs them. 

They make her feel alive. They make her feel like Henry did the moment that he was placed in her arms, her perfect, beautiful baby boy. 

Henry, Robin and Roland make her feel like she has a purpose past this stupid curse. 

Maybe, though, maybe Robin doesn’t want to actually date her. There’s a chance that floats through her brain, weaves its way in and out of her thought process, that he doesn’t mean for this night to be a date at all. Maybe this is just for the two of them to decompress, take a few hours without their sons and act like adults for once. 

It’s that thought that carries her through the rest of the day, pushes the worry of Roland’s confession out of her mind. She leaves work early and picks Henry up, dots kisses over his cheeks and takes him with her to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients for lasagna. Even if it’s not a date, she still wants this night to go well, still wants to impress him, even if they are just friends. 

It’s around 4:30 when she walks into Granny’s, eyeing the woman as she counts the register from the lunch crowd. “You don’t mind if I’m early, do you?” 

“Of course not, child,” Granny chides, counting out the last twenty before putting the pile into a bank bag. “Give me that adorable baby of yours.” 

She passes Henry over, smiling at the two of them as Henry babbles at Granny, squealing in delight and punching his curled up fists against her cheeks. 

“Yes, you and I are going to have the best time together,” Granny coo’s, tickling his fingers against his belly. “Do you know when Locksley’s dropping Roland off?” 

“No,” Regina shakes her head. “Robin helps out with Roland’s after-school program until 5, so anytime after that I suppose.” 

Granny hums and pointedly ignores Regiana for a moment, keeping her attention on Henry. The uncomfortable silence settles around then and Regina knows what the older woman is doing, has been on this end of her pointed questions and interrogation before, so when Granny finally speaks up, she’s anything but surprised. 

“Is this your first date then?” 

“It’s not a date.” 

Granny laughs at that, turning back to Henry. “Hear that?” she asks him, her voice octaves higher. “Your mommy thinks that she’s not going on a date tonight.’ 

“It’s not,” Regina argues. “It’s two friends having dinner together. It’s… It’s like a parent support group.” 

“The two of you shoot googly eyes at each other over breakfast every morning in this diner. This is  _ not _ a friendly parent support dinner. You like each other.” 

“He’s just… pleasant to look at,” Regina shrugs. “It’s harmless.” 

“If that’s what you think,” Granny laughs. “I think that the two of you are smitten with each other, and you don’t know how to act, so you’re both acting like you’re oblivious. It was cute for the first two weeks. Now Ruby and I have a bet going on how long it’ll take the two of you to start sleeping together.” 

_ “Granny,”  _ Regina snaps, her eyes widening. There’s no one in the diner but them, but that doesn’t stop the blush from rising up to the curve of her cheekbone. “We’re  _ not.”  _

“Yet,” the older woman throws back, her eyebrows raising with her smirk. “You’d be a fool not to. He’s a tall drink of water.” 

“I— I need to go make dinner,” Regina stammers. “Let me say goodbye to my son please?” 

Granny purses her lips and passes him back, giving Regina a moment. She nuzzles her son to her chest, presses kisses to the top of his head and promises that she’ll be back to get him in a couple of hours. When she passes him back to Granny, the older woman lifts his hand and has him pretend to wave ‘bye’. 

“I’ll see you by 10, at the latest.” Regina drops the diaper bag on the counter, smiling at Granny as she turns. She feels her back straighten, has her thoughts back on track as the strides to the door, until Granny has to open her damn mouth again. 

“If tonight’s the night, you have to let me know. It’s my night for the bet,” Granny calls out to her. 

Regina spins, her eyes wide, her cheeks red, heat radiating through her. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” She stammers, rushing out the door. 

.::.

The lasagna is in the oven, there’s a salad in the bowl on the counter, and she’s nursing a glass of red wine to calm her nerves while she waits. 

It’s absolutely ridiculous that she’s this nervous right now. She’s a  _ queen,  _ for god's sake. She’s had control over massive numbers of people, has brought men to their knees with just a look. She’s ruled kingdoms and ripped out hearts. 

And on top of that, she’s a  _ Mills,  _ dammit _.  _ She is stronger than some innocent, schoolgirl crush. 

It’s not as if her crushes have done her any good in her past, any how. 

They’d agreed on six for dinner, haven’t talked since this morning, and she can’t stop herself from watching the neon numbers on the stove tick by, slowly marking each moment that she waits for him. At 5:53 the doorbell rings and she sucks in a breath, finishes off the little wine she had left in her glass, sets it on the counter, and heads toward the door. 

He’s standing before her in a dark blue button down, the sleeves cuffed up so they strain against the thick curves of his forearms. He’s got on dark wash jeans, his shirt tucked into the waistband of his pants, and a pair of dark dress shoes. His dirty blonde hair is ruffled on the top of his head, his stubble perfectly shaved down against his crisp jawline. 

And he looks  _ damn  _ good.

“Hey.” 

“Hi, come in.” 

He steps through the front door, one hand holding a bouquet of flowers, the other clutching a folder with Captain America’s shield on the cover. 

“For me?” she asks, looking down at his hands with a laugh. 

He holds out the flowers and the folder, sheepishly grinning at her. “From Roland,” he starts, handing her the folder. “I’m not going to lie, my boy was quite jealous that I get to have dinner with  _ Miss Mayor _ and he doesn’t, so he insisted that he draw you these pictures to make up for it. I was given explicit instructions not to open them though, so who knows what his imagination has come up with this time.” 

She laughs and opens the folder, smiling down at the picture of the four of them at the park. “It’s adorable,” she tells him, lifting it delicately from the confines of the pocket to show him. They head through the kitchen as she flips through the two other pictures, ones of her office and of his classroom, but she takes the one of the four of them and pins it up onto her refrigerator with magnets. “There,” she grins. “You can let him know that his masterpiece has been hung in the gallery for all to see.” 

“He’ll be thrilled,” Robin tells her, before holding out the flowers. “These are for you too.” 

She accepts the flowers with smile, taking time to smell them and run her finger carefully over the soft petals. “They’re beautiful. Roland’s outdone himself.” 

“Actually they’re—” he starts, running a hand through his hair. “From Roland, yeah, the man’s a heartbreaker.” 

She eyes him carefully, her eyebrow raising as she pulls a vase from one of the cabinets, filling it with water and setting the flowers within, carefully spreading them out into a beautiful bouquet. “He’s not too upset that you’re stealing me away for an evening?” 

Robin shakes his head, coming around the other side of the counter to stand next to her. “He’ll be alright. I think he’s jealous, but I can admit just a tad that I’m excited to spend the evening with real conversation and wine.” 

She looks up at him then, the vein that runs up the side of his neck straining, and she itches to draw her fingers down it, run her lips over his pulse point and suck until he’s moaning out her name, but she can’t. 

Because this  _ isn’t  _ a date. 

“Yeah,” she replies, turning toward him, resting her hip against the counter. “I’m a bit thrilled to not have to change a dirty diaper.” 

He grins and he’s looking at her in this  _ way, _ his eyes all soft and blue, crinkling at the edges just as he had when she was holding Henry that fateful morning a month ago, and she drops her hands to the counter, squeezing the granite tightly. “So I made lasagna,” she diverts, turning toward the oven. “It’s got sausage, mushrooms and zucchini, and a few different types of cheeses. Oh, I didn’t think to ask if you were allergic or didn’t like anything, I’m—” 

He steps up to her, his hand curling over her hip as he peers over her shoulder, and her voice cuts out. “I’m neither allergic, nor picky,” he promises. “And this smells and looks incredible, Regina. You’ve truly outdone yourself.” 

“It’s one of the only things I’ve perfected.” 

“I’m sure you’re perfect at a lot of other things, Madam Mayor.” He squeezes her hip once more for good measure then steps back, and she lets out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, bringing a hand up to card it through her hair. Robin turns to pour them two glasses of wine from the bottle she’d already started, coming back around to pass one to him, a mischievous smirk on his lips. 

This is going to be a long night. 

.::. 

God  _ damn, _ she looks good. 

Dinner is going well, at least he thinks. She’s been off, though, avoiding any topics that don’t center around the safe-zone that is their children or work. He should’ve been smart enough to assume that she’d think the flowers were from Roland and not him— his own mistake for choosing the same flowers his son had picked out for her almost two months ago. He wanted to do something special, should have brought her a bottle of wine or roses. She seems like a woman who would appreciate a good bouquet of roses, and he knows from the exquisite bottle she’d picked out for them that she has the finest taste in wine. 

He’s sufficiently distracted by her outfit though. Her long hair is swept up in this half-up half-down thing that he can’t quite figure out, the shorter layers of her hair framing her face in contrast to how it’s held back, but it’s exposed the line of her smooth neck as she tucks her hair over her shoulder when she’s cutting garlic bread, and he’s mesmerized. She’s wearing a maroon dress, long sleeves but the back is a sheer lace, and the fact that he can’t see the line of her bra beneath the fabric has his breath coming out a little heavier. The dress is short, stopping just below her thighs, but it flares out at her hip so each time she moves, the fabric spins and exposes  _ just  _ a little more skin than it does when she’s standing still. 

She’s a goddess. 

When she’d stepped up to him earlier her perfume had surrounded him, the woodsy, fruited, rich smell of violet and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on encompassing his every thought. He wanted to drag her in close, share the taste of red wine from her lips and muss up her perfect hair with his calloused hands. 

He wishes that whatever  _ this  _ is between them was already established, that they’d drawn a line around them instead of between them. If he’d have just kissed her that morning when Henry was asleep like he wanted to, he would be able to wrap her up in his arms now, pin her to the counter and ravish her beautiful curves with his lips. 

She probably tastes so good. Her lips are entrancing, painted a deep red that matches her dress, and each time she has caught him staring at her lips, she drops her eyes to his own and lingers longer and longer. 

They sit through their meal and chat about work, his time spent as an EMT and the crazy things he’s had to do. She tells him about her business at the Mayor’s office, the ridiculous complaints and contracts she has to filter through to keep their town running, and he commends her for all of her hard work. He’s never had any complaints about her as a Mayor, had voted for her in an election years ago, and has admired her work ever since. 

“You know,” he starts, taking a drink from his glass before continuing, “the first time I saw you, you were tearing into one of those maintenance workers from sanitation. We were outside of the fire station and the poor man— Leroy, I think it was, had mussed up something with the water system. The whole town had wreaked liked eggs for hours and you were furious. Your cheeks had been all red, and your hair was disheveled, and every time you yelled you got this adorable crease in your brow. I had wanted to step in, but Leroy was holding his own against you, and we’d always had this running bet going on when he would finally snap.” 

“Oh god,” she groans, leaning back in her dining room chair. “I remember that day. All your men over at the firehouse were practically cackling when Doc had come out soaking wet and claiming he’d fixed it. I was furious. We hadn’t had that bad of a problem here for so long, and so when I had showered that morning and the sulfur came through, I was  _ done _ .” 

“You looked adorable,” he shrugs, smirking over the rim of his glass at her. “I wanted to get to know you right then and there.” 

“I wasn’t the kindest person in the past few years. That wasn’t one of my finest moments.” 

“You were lovely,” he chuckles. “Most of the town was that mad since they had showered in smelly water, you were just quick-witted enough to deal with it. Storybrooke is safe, it’s clean, and you’re doing a damn good job keeping it that way.” 

She blushes, lifts the glass of red wine to her lips and takes a sip to hide her cheeks. 

“This was absolutely delicious,” he compliments her, putting his napkin on the table. “Seriously, darling, I don’t know how you quite think this is the only thing you’ve perfected. If you cook anything else remotely like this, it’s  _ all  _ perfection.” 

“I should keep you around to just fuel me with compliments all the time. You’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at plenty of other things too,” he smirks. 

She chokes on her wine, eyeing him over the glass, her eyebrows raised. “Is that so?” 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, swallowing his wine. “I have an affection for archery in my free time. I’m  _ very  _ good with my hands.” 

She looks nervous, sets her glass down and and lets out a shuddering breath before standing, pushing her chair back from the table. “I made desert.” 

“You—” he starts, but she’s already up. 

“It’s an apple pie. I figured you like apples, since you always snag those apple muffins that Granny makes at the diner, and while I make a mean lasagna, I’ve heard my apple pies are to die for.” 

She starts to head out of the room and he can’t take this, can’t let her keep running each time he thinks,  _ maybe,  _ that she’s going to realize this isn’t just two friends having dinner. 

“Regina,” he calls, pushing the chair back and getting up quick enough to reach out and grab her hand before she can slip from the room. They’re standing beneath the archway between her kitchen and living room and he tugs her back toward him, his hand coming up to wrap around her wrist. 

.::.

And just like that, he’s invading all of her personal space, his body practically surrounding her own. His fingers are curled over the jut of her hip and she can’t breathe, can’t focus on anything else but how close he is. No one has dared to touch her like this since the Enchanted Forest, and all of her questions about what this is, what  _ they  _ are, are gone from her head, replaced with an intense need for his hands on her, the tip of his nose brushing her own, the ghost of his breath against her lips. 

“Take a moment,” he whispers, lifting his hand up, caressing her cheek with his fingertips. “Stop… rushing around so much.” 

“There’s pie,” she breathes out, turning her head slightly toward the kitchen, but he quickly cups her cheek and redirects her attention back to him. 

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but forget the pie, darling. Do you want this?” 

She stays still, her breath hitching when he brushes her hair from where her bangs have fallen in her face, unsure of how to pose herself. His warm body is firm against her own and, oh, fuck it, she nods her head barely an inch. There’s this feeling that he exudes, this power that reminds her of a version of herself that hasn’t been released in so long, one that she has tamped down and has been longing to let go. The last time she has had any feeling like this, of this young naivety, she was a teenager with ridiculously long hair and a stupidly bright outlook on life. 

She knows better than to trust so easily, to give up her heart so hard, but he’s stepping closer to her, and she takes one step back, her spine pressed to the crown molding of the doorway, and his lips are so,  _ so  _ close to hers.  _ ‘Oh screw it’ _ she thinks. He’s an attractive man with his hands on her hips and his lips a breath away from hers, and the Evil Queen is craving to come out and play. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he informs her, the barely there feeling of his lips against her own making her hands tremble. Her arms are draped down by her sides and she’s forgotten how to move, how to breathe; forgotten anything but the anticipation of what his thick lips and rough stubble might feel like against her own skin. 

It feels like forever before he finally leans in and caresses his lips over her own. It’s only a touch, just a soft peck that lasts a lifetime, his lips delicate against hers. She melts into him, her lips sliding against his, tilting her head just so. 

His left arm comes around her waist, the other nestled safe against her cheek as he carefully pulls away, his nose brushing back against hers. “Is this okay?” 

She nods again, her lips curling up in a devilish grin, and it’s all the approval he needs before he dives back in, his fingers tightening around the back of her head, pulling her close, holding her to him as he kisses her so deeply she can feel it low within the pits of her dark, cracked heart. 

Regina’s brain finally comes to and connects with the rest of her and she groans deep, brings her arms up to clutch his biceps and kiss him back. She parts her lips, pulls away just barely then surges back against him, nipping at his bottom lip, soothing her tongue over it, and he uses the moment to slip his warm tongue against her own. 

His hands come down lower and lower, his right cupping the curve of her hip, his left gripping her ass to lift her up just enough, eliminating the height difference between them so she settles against the crook of his hips, her leg wrapping securely around his thigh. She wraps her arms around him and runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, holding his head to her own, running her tongue over the roof of his mouth. He tastes of red wine and something else equally delicious and nothing matters anymore because god, this is the best kiss she’s ever had. 

He breaks from her lips, his breath coming out in a rushed puff as he trails his lips over her jaw, nipping at the smooth skin and working his way down. He sucks at a spot on her neck and the whine she lets out is so unlike her but she doesn’t care, only wants to think about him as he shifts his hips and presses himself against her. 

“You’re stunning,” Robin growls, his grip on her hips tightening, lips traveling to the other side of her neck, drawing his nose over her skin before biting at the dip of her collarbone, soothing over the mark she knows he’s left against her skin.

God, he smells intoxicating, his warm, woodsy aftershave joining along with every other part of him in invading her senses. She drops her head back, the thick  _ thump _ against the doorframe echoing as she shifts her body to grind her hips against his. His lips are on her neck, so,  _ so  _ good and her thoughts aren’t coherent. She wants him— wants to climb him and make him press his beautiful mouth against her chest and her stomach and her thighs. His grip on her body is nothing short of perfect, his rough hands kneading her ass, and she palms the back of his head to keep him pressed tightly to her. 

She lets out a low, breathy groan when he kisses back up the line of her throat and secures his lips fully over her own, his hands gripping her ass to lift her higher, her legs wrapping around his waist. She can feel the sharp juts of the door frame cutting into her back as she pushes back against the molding, moving her hands to his shoulders to hold him to her body while she kisses him back. After a few moments she breaks the kiss, pulling back, her hands reaching to cup his cheeks so she can press her forehead to his. “Couch,” she chokes out, trying desperately to steady her breath. 

He grips her ass and tugs her foreword, her legs instinctively wrapping tighter around his waist, her arms locked around his shoulders. “You look bloody sexy in this dress,” Robin growls, walking through her foyer toward the living room. “I’ve been staring at your gorgeous body beneath that sheer fabric all night, you know that?” 

“Not so bad yourself,” she teases back, dropping her head to suck at a spot beneath the stubble on his neck, running her nails over the back of his head, grinding her hips down against his own. She nips at it with her teeth before soothing over it with the flat of her tongue, smirking against his skin as he growls and tightens the grip on her ass. They get into the living room and he drops her down onto her back on the couch, still standing above her. Her dark chocolate hair is falling out from the hair tie that she had it in, now fanned out against the gray material, her chest heaving with each labored breath as she watches him situate himself as he kneels down between her legs, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt so that a hint of his toned chest peeks through. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, her skin is flushed, her blackened heart is pounding deep within the depths of her chest, the thrill and anticipation of whatever is about to come overtakes her every thought. 

She could stop him, should sit up and kiss him sweetly and push this off to another time, but she really,  _ really  _ doesn’t want to. It’s been so long since anyone has touched her,  _ hell,  _ even longer since anyone has even looked at her in a way that ignited a fire beneath her skin like he is in this very moment, and now that she’s had a taste of him, she’s starving for more. 

No one has ever been able to match her pace as he is now. They’ve always hesitated, let her lead and asked her what she wanted and it’s never,  _ ever _ been what she wants. She wants this— she wants someone who won’t back down from her, who matches her own frenzied nature, who isn’t afraid to pick her up and press her back to the couch and ravish her until she screams. Robin has been everything in the past few hours that she has longed for her entire life, and the thought terrifies her. 

He looks down and gives her this devilish smirk that has her holding back a moan, while situates himself between her legs and runs his hands up the smooth skin of her calves. 

“You, my darling, are radiant,” he whispers, leaning over her, his lips slowly pressing back to hers. 

She brings her hand up and cups the side of his neck, holding him to her as he parts his lips and kisses her again, his tongue running smoothly over her own. The flame that had tamed when she had him move them comes back just as quickly as it had earlier and she wraps her legs tightly around him and draws his hips down against her own.

He runs his hands past the smooth skin of her knee and up, up, up her thighs, his thumbs digging into the taut muscle of her legs. 

Everything about this feels  _ so _ incredible and they stay there for longer than she realizes, her hands quickly unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, pushing the fabric from his shoulders. He maneuvers himself until he gets the shirt off of him and out of the way, dropping it down onto the floor. She palms her hand up his sculpted bare chest, her legs tightening around his hips to draw him closer to her. They’ve slowed down now, taking time to explore one another, his calloused hands working their way up her dress and over the swell of her ass beneath her lace panties. 

He massages her skin, breaking the kiss, his breath coming out heavy in puffs against her jaw. Before she has time to react he sits up, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up with him and onto his lap. His back is pressed to the couch and with a little manhandling she’s situated in his lap, the hem of her skirt bunched up at her waist, his hands on the swell of her ass. Her hands find purchase on his bare shoulders, his smooth, warm skin beneath her palms. 

“Good?” he checks in, running his hand up and down the hem of her lace panties, dipping beneath the fabric to draw tight circles over her hip. 

“Yeah,” she grins, reaching one hand behind her to let her dark hair loose from it’s hold, running her fingers swiftly through it. She leans in, her hair framing their faces, and kisses him once more, shifting herself so her knees are tight against the back on the couch, her chest flush against his. Regina draws her hips down, pressing herself flush against the growing hardness in his pants, grinding herself down onto him. The dull friction against her clit feels fantastic, building with each pass of her hips, his hands on her ass, keeping her pressed tightly against him. 

Had this been twenty years ago and they were back in the Enchanted Forest, she would have taken him inside of her by now, stripped him of his clothing, crushed her lips to his own, rode him till she saw nothing but stars, and then kicked him out of her chambers the moment she got her release. She doesn’t want that now though— she wants  _ him,  _ wants to explore his body and let him explore  _ her.  _

He groans into their kiss when she grinds her hips against his now obvious erection, smirking as her hands trail down further and further until her fingertips are toying with the waistline of his dark wash jeans. 

She’s not going to sleep with him tonight. She won’t— can’t— it’s already pushing 9:45 and they have to get their kids soon and she  _ knows  _ that the moment she strips his pants off of him and he slips his warm cock inside of her, she’s going to want to take her time with him and find out  _ exactly _ what he’s good at. 

But that doesn’t mean they can’t have a little fun first. 

He must have the same idea though, because the moment she uses her dexterous fingers to unbutton his pants, he pulls his right hand from her ass and shifts it around her front, cupping her through her panties. 

_ Fuck.  _

“God you’re wet,” he groans, his hands roughly pulling her forward, pressing his fingers right against her clit through the lace of her panties, circling once, twice over it, her voice a breathy moan as she drops her forehead to his shoulder. “Do you like this darling? My fingers against your body?” 

She nods, brushing her hands over his skin, bringing her right hand up to curl around the edge of his neck, swirling her hips against his hands. “Rob—” she gasps as he presses harder, her breath hitching when he pushes the scrap of lace to the side and brushes his fingers over her skin. She wants to get his pants down, craves the feeling of his hot length resting against her palm, but the moment she tries again he presses the pads of his fingers to her clit, circling over her tight bundle of nerves, and  _ god _ — she can’t stop the moan that escapes from her. She turns her head and draws his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling on it carefully before pressing her lips to his in a rushed kiss, sucking at his lip and pulling out a deep moan from him. 

He works his hand down, pushing a finger inside of her, curling it up to press against her inner walls.

Oh, oh shit, it’s blissful. She grinds herself down on his hand, rocking her hips. He leans in and dots kisses along her neck, sucking at the sweet spot beneath her jaw, one that has her shuddering against him, a low, drawn out moan escaping her lips. She digs her nails into the smooth skin at his neck, dropping her head to press kisses against his shoulder, and Robin brings his free hand up, cupping the edge of her jaw, tilting her head, pressing a sucking kiss to her lips as he thrusts his finger inside of her before adding a second and curling them up again. 

She moans into their kiss, rotating her hips against his hand, driving herself higher and higher against him, her hands having long forgotten their original destination and settling against his abs. She digs her nails into his skin and cries out a high-pitched  _ ‘Ah!’  _ when he brings his thumb up and presses it to her clit, throws her head back and rides his hand. 

Her back arches and she clutches one hand at the back of his head, her nails digging into his hair and she fucks herself with his fingers, her thighs shaking as he brings her up higher and higher and then he—  _ fuck—  _ he starts talking. 

“That’s it love, is that what you need? You feel so good, so tight around my fingers. Let me hear you.” She stills her own hips and sucks in a breath, opening her eyes, watching him as he watches  _ her  _ and hell, he is so hot _.  _ His fingers are still moving though, thrusting in her, curling up to press tightly against her g-spot, and she can’t stop the  _ ‘ohhhh my god, fuck, that— right there’  _ that escapes her lips. His eyes are drawn down to where he has his fingers inside of her, his bottom lip drawn between his own teeth, letting out these groans when she works herself up higher with his hand. “You like that, don’t you. Knowing that you’re so close to coming, my fingers bringing you up higher and higher. Get yourself off darling, fuck, that’s it.” 

She’s a queen, she should be able to keep her composure, to stay refined, but god it’s been so long, and a release, a release brought on by someone else, sounds nothing short of perfect. He brushes his nose against hers and bites her lip, pulling her back in for another kiss, and she can’t help stop her trembling thighs, the hitch of her hips as she lets go. 

“Shit! Robin,” she cries out, gasping out a high-pitched cry. He keeps fucking her faster, his fingers thump-thump-thumping against her, his thumb rapid against her clit, bringing her up until she bursts, shouting “fuck, that’s— oh, right there, don’t stop, don’t—” 

The effects of her orgasm ripple through her, her legs trembling as he keeps fucking her. Everything feels so good, his body hot against her own, his chest flush against hers and he keeps whispering these sweet, delicious things in her ear, telling her how good she feels, how fantastic she looks and she comes hard, dropping down against his chest. 

It doesn’t resonate how long they stay like that, his fingers still snug inside of her, her breath coming out in shuddered puffs against his neck as she comes down from her high. She hasn’t come like that in ages— especially not with another person, and her body feels so  _ good,  _ so satisfied yet hungry for more. 

“Regina,” Robin starts, turning his head to press a kiss to her temple, “We’ve got to get the kids soon.” 

“No,” she groans, bringing her hand up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

He chuckles, his laughter vibrating through her chest, and she lets out a little gasp when he pulls his fingers out of her and sucks them off in his mouth. It’s so hot watching him slip his tongue over his fingers, listening to his moan as he tastes her, and she loses her train of thought imagining how incredible his tongue would feel between her thighs. “We promised Granny we’d be back around 10:30, and it’s already 10:15. And while we both know she’d be plenty happy to take the boys for the night, I’d feel bad.” 

“True,” she whispers, leaning back to look at him. He’s truly beautiful inside and out. She brings a hand up and carefully traces the lines of his face, running the tips of her fingers over the bridge of his nose, his full, well kissed lips, the dip of his dimples when he flashes her a smile. She can’t stop herself, leans in when he brushes the hair from her own cheek and kisses him. It’s nothing like their hot, frantic and deep kisses from earlier— no, their lips never even part. It’s more than that, more than the carnal need for touch and release, it’s enough that it has her black heart burning with a feeling that she had deemed impossible long ago. 

He brushes his nose against her own when they part, and he helps her carefully off of him. Her eyes dart down at his still straining erection, and she craves the taste of him on her tongue, wants to drop down and make him as weak in the knees as he’s just done to her, but he chuckles and shakes his head, gives her a shrug of his shoulders and a sorry grin. 

“I’m going to go situate myself real fast in your bathroom,” he tells her, bending down to retrieve his shirt off of the floor. “Want to walk to go get the boys? It’s not too cold out.” 

“Sure,” she smiles. “I’m going to step upstairs and freshen up.” 

He glances down quick at where her dress has fallen back into place, over her sticky thighs and practically ruined panties, and he gives her a smug grin. 

“Robin…” she chides but he tugs on her hand and brings her flush against him, dropping a soft kiss to her lips, squeezing her ass with the palm of his hand. 

“God you have no idea how bloody gorgeous you looked coming on my hand,” he whispers into her ear, dropping a kiss to the smooth line of her neck. She shudders a breath, gripping his bicep when he kisses her once more before letting her go. 

He turns off toward the powder room and she gawks at the vast plane of his back, the ripple of his well-defined muscles as he moves. She licks her bottom lip and runs over it with her teeth, imagining what his skin would look like marred with scratches from her nails, how he’d feel pinning her to her bed and fucking her until she knows nothing but his name. 

Shit. 

Maybe this was a date.


	6. Chapter 6

Their walk back to Granny’s is quiet, the snow falling peacefully around them. Her hand is snug in his and he can’t remember a time that he was actually  _ this  _ happy. Roland brings him unbridled joy, and thoughts of Marian filled him with warmth but this— the past few hours with Regina have been a whole new level of bliss that he can’t quite explain. 

It’s pushing 10:45, only a couple minutes later than they had originally promised, but he doesn’t want this night to end. She's been running her thumb over his knuckles, telling him quietly about how Henry’s started preferring sweet potatoes over bananas, how he’s started babbling a nonsensical ‘mama’ at her that she positively adores, how she longs for that time she misses with him when she goes to work each day. 

She’s so beautiful at the moment. In every moment really, but especially now with the snow falling over her, a purple beanie secured over her head, her cheeks a light shade of pink from the winter winds whipping around them. He wants to kiss her and so he does just that— stops her in the middle of the sidewalk just out of sight from Granny’s, and draws his lips to hers. 

She’s smiling into their completely innocent kiss, her hand coming up to rest against his chest, fingertips toying with the collar of his coat. They trade a few sweet, slow kisses and he takes this moment to memorize her. The feeling of her hands on his chest, her hips beneath his own palms, the soft caress of her lips against his own, the taste of her vanilla lip balm and the red wine they had consumed earlier, the smell of her fruited perfume taking him over. He draws his hands up and down her spine, kissing her over and over until she breaks from his lips and sucks in a breath. 

He cups her cheek, running his thumb over the curve of it. 

“I’ve had a really great time tonight.” 

“Me too,” she smirks, her eyes focused on his jacket, his jaw, and then finally his eyes. She’s got heeled boots on but she’s still shorter than him, fits so well against the frame of his body, and he wants to keep her there as long as he can. 

“Would you want to join me for a movie night at my house one night this week? I know Roland would love to spend some time with you outside of Granny’s.” 

“Just Roland?” she smirks, running her fingers against the stubble of his jaw. 

He shrugs and smirks down at her. “His father too.” 

She leans up and flashes a quick kiss to his lips, reaching down and squeezing his hand. Her fingers are surprisingly warm against his own, tangling within his own so their palms are snug against each other. 

“I think a movie night sounds perfect.” 

He doesn’t bother to hide his grin, just kisses her once more before they head up the sidewalk toward the diner. 

The front door is open but the lights above the counter are dim, the chairs flipped over onto the tables. Granny’s apartment is attached to the back so they work their way down the hall, her hand still secure in his as she tugs him behind her. It’s 10:50, later than they had both anticipated their night to go, and when she raps her hand against Granny’s apartment door the old woman swings it open and her eyes immediately dart down to their joined hands and back up, a sly grin spreading across her cheeks. 

“Have an interesting night?” 

Robin’s eyes widen and he stammers out a “Well— we,” when Regina squeezes his hand and shakes her head.

“No more interesting than yours,” she cuts, her voice sharper than it had been moments ago when it was the two of them. “How were the boys?” 

“Angels, as always. Roland doted over Henry the entire time. He’s such a good helper with him, and he played with him and read him out of those little books that his teacher put in his backpack. He knocked out about an hour and a half ago.” 

“Thank you for watching them,” Robin tells her as they head inside. 

Roland’s sound asleep on the couch tucked contently under a blanket, his arms wrapped safely around his stuffed dalmatian. Henry’s in a baby bouncer that Regina had dropped off earlier in the week, sucking on his pacifier, his eyes open wide and watching the room intensely. 

“Hi, my sweet baby,” Regina whispers, kneeling down to tickle her fingers against his belly. Henry squeals and flails his arms, his pacifier dropping out of his mouth when he lets out a loud giggle. “Mamamama,” he babbles, his little arms and legs going rapidly. 

Regina quickly unbuckles him and scoops him up into her arms, dotting kisses over his cheeks. It draws Robin’s attention and he can’t help but stare at her in her natural state, how incredible she is, how  _ attractive _ she looks as a mom. She’s whispering something to him that neither him nor Granny can hear so he takes the moment to go over and check on his own son. Roland’s snoring, his face mushed into the pillow on Granny’s couch, his chest rising and falling with each, even breath. 

He really doesn’t need to wake him other than to get his coat and hat on him, but before he can, Granny puts a hand on his shoulders and gives it a squeeze. “You kids have a good time?” she asks, her voice low enough that Regina can’t hear. 

“The best,” Robin grins, stealing a look at Regina as she bounces Henry and continues to whisper to him. “Thank you so much for watching the boys. I owe you a thousand.” 

“Nonsense, it’s my pleasure,” she smirks. “I like seeing the two of you finally getting over yourselves and spending some time together. And having a good time at that.” 

Regina blushes and whispers out a harsh,  _ “Granny,”  _ shooting a glare at the older woman. 

“What?” she feigns innocence, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m just saying. You didn’t have that sort of blush on your cheeks when you left here earlier.” 

He can’t hold back his laughter at the pure look of embarrassment and fury on Regina’s face, and while he wants to wrap his arms around her waist and promise her that she looks perfect, he knows very well that Granny would have a field day, and Regina would kill him. 

Roland starts to stir at the noise, his hands coming up in tight fists to rub against his tired eyes. “Papa?” he asks, fidgeting beneath the blanket, blinking a few times before his eyes open. 

“Hi bud,” Robin whispers, kneeling down beside the couch to brush Roland’s hair from his eyes. “You have fun with Granny and Henry?” 

“Mm,” Roland mumbles, reaching his arms out. Robin stands and picks him up, hugs him tightly as Roland buries his face into his father’s shoulders and snuggles the blanket that’s pressed tightly between them. “Papa, ‘m sleepy.” 

“We’re on our way home now,” he says, reaching down to grab Roland’s dalmatian and packed backpack, slinging it over his free shoulder. “What do you say to Granny?” 

“T’ank you,” Roland says around a yawn, his eyes fluttering closed once again. Regina’s got Henry wrapped up against her chest in his swaddle, a knit cap tugged over his head, her jacket wrapped around them both to keep him warm. 

“I’ll bring you some money tomorrow—” Regina starts, but Granny laughs and shakes her head. 

“You try and bring me money, I’m not going to charge you for breakfast for a month. Don’t you dare.” 

Regina starts to argue but Granny shuts her down again, ushering her and Robin out of the door with their sleeping children in their arms. “Now, I’ve got a breakfast rush at 5:30 and I need a good night's sleep for it. Shoo. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she tells them, shutting the door behind them before they can even squeak out a ‘goodbye’. 

They’re outside in the snow, both of their sons tuckered out safely in their arms, and he hates the fact that he has to leave her at this moment. He wants to take her home, set Henry up with Roland in his bedroom and spend the rest of his night peeling her clothes off of her and giving her  _ everything  _ that she deserves. 

“Well,” Regina starts, shifting her diaper bag back up onto her shoulder from where it had slipped. “I should get him out of the cold, and Roland looks like he could really use his own bed.” 

He nods and shifts Roland, giving himself enough space to lean in and drop a kiss to her cheek. “See you tomorrow for breakfast?” 

She smiles and turns her head to drop a soft kiss to his lips, pulling back from him with a bright smile plastered across her cheeks. “Tomorrow,” she tells him before turning off down the street. 

He’s practically euphoric on his walk home. 

Regina Mills is nothing short of perfect, of that he is certain. Watching her come on his hand was the greatest thing that he’s seen all year, being able to listen to her breathy moans and feel the tremble of her thighs as she reached that gorgeous precipe and let her orgasm overtake her. He  _ needs  _ to see it again— wants to make her come on his tongue and with his cock over and over until they’re both spent and curled up beneath the blankets of her bed. 

When he gets back to the house he drops Roland off in his room, changes him into his pajamas and tucks him under the covers, then heads off toward his own bathroom. 

Finally alone, he lets his mind wander, imagining what it would be like to peel that dress off of her, suck on her gorgeous tits and kiss his way down her toned stomach before finding purchase between her thighs. Just the thought of the taste of her and he’s half hard again, craving every inch of her. He wants to spend hours between her thighs, getting to know her properly, finding each secret part of her that will make her gasp and moan and cry out those perfect sounds she was making earlier. He’s got a keen intuition that she’s  _ loud _ in bed. She feels everything with her whole heart and soul, pours herself into her work and her family, and it makes her even hotter. 

He makes his way down the hallway of their home and strips his clothes off the moment he reaches his bedroom, dropping the forgotten fabric onto the floor, turning on the hot spray of the shower. He steps under it and the spray of the water beats against his back, soaks into his skin. 

He gets himself off to the memory of her, her beautiful moans in his ear, the sounds she made as he’d fucked her with his fingers, the grip of her hand on his shoulder when he hit that spot inside of her and she cried out his name. Everything about her is pure perfection and he brings himself up to the thought of her taste, the feeling of her body against his own, and when he finally comes, it’s her name that spills from his lips. 

.::.

“Papa.” 

It’s the loudest ‘whisper’ he’s heard, Roland’s hot breath right against his cheek, his soft curls falling and hitting Robin in the forehead. 

“Papa, it’s morning time.”

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Robin grumbles, sneaking his hands up to wrap tightly around Roland, tugging the boy down against his chest and tickling his fingers against his sides. 

Roland squeals, yelling, “but the sun’s awake!” as he kicks his legs against the blanket and pleads for freedom, and after a few moments Robin concedes and snuggles his son against his chest. 

“Did’ja have dinner with Miss Mayor?” Roland asks, tapping his hands against Robin’s chest. His dalmation is tucked safely under his armpit, having survived their tickle-fest, and Roland pulls him out and sets him between them, pulling the covers up so the dog’s equally as warm as them. 

“I did.” 

“Hmm,” Roland hums, fiddling with the dogs ears. After a few moments he looks up, his dark eyes fixating on Robins. “Is she your girlfriend?” 

Robin chokes on nothing, stammering out an, “I— she—” though Roland looks like it was the simplest question he could ask. 

“Tommy’s in my class, he says Lucy is his girlfriend. They hold hands on the playground, and he gives her half of his cookie at lunch. He kissed her too! Riiiiiiiight here,” Roland draws out, smacking his lips to Robin’s cheek with a quiet giggle. 

“Does he now?” 

“Yep!” Roland squeeks, tucking himself up close to Robin’s chest once more. “She gets a big smile on her face, like Miss Mayor does when you tell her she’s pretty! That means she’s your girlfriend. Right Papa?” 

Robin shakes his head, bringing a hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend.” 

“But,” Roland starts, furrowing his eyebrows, “You and Miss Mayor smile at each other, and when we went to the park the other day she holded your hand.” 

“I was helping her get over the rock, since she had her boots on.” 

Roland shrugs and shakes his head, pouts out his bottom lip. “I think she should be your girlfriend. She’s pretty.” 

“She is very pretty,” Robin agrees. “But it’s not that easy for someone to be your girlfriend or boyfriend when you’re an adult. You’ve got to spend some time together first, see if you like each other. And then, maybe, you can be boyfriend and girlfriend, or whatever you and your partner are.” 

Roland shrugs. “Seems easy,” he giggles, sitting up in bed. “Papa, can we go get breakfast? My tummy’s grumblin’. I want pancakes.” 

With that, the two of them get out of bed, Roland rushing off to his room to pull on his winter gear. He’s been adamant that he can do it on his own, and though Robin knows that he’ll need to resituate his son’s snow pants and his jacket, he lets him run off anyhow. Robin lingers for a moment, sitting on the edge of his bed, running his hands over his face.

Last night felt like a dream. 

He did dream of her, of each perfectly delicious part of her as she’d cried out his name. He dreamt that they didn’t have to go get their kids so as he’d drawn his fingers from her he bent her over the armrest of the couch, ran his hands over the curve of her bare ass and slipped into her from behind. She felt so good around him, so tight and warm and  _ fuck,  _ he gets lost in his memories again. 

He wants her, badly. 

He scrubs a hand down his face and pushes off of the bed, walks across the room to the bathroom. 

Robin takes a look in the mirror and brings his hand up, running over a slightly purple-ish mark at the line of his collarbone and neck, from where she’d sucked kisses at his skin. He can’t wait to see her, wants to sneak her into the back of Granny’s and pin her to the wall and ravish his own kisses along the gorgeous line of her neck. 

His train of thought is quickly shattered when he hears Roland screeching his name from his bedroom, and the slam of little feet against hardwood. 

“Papa! I can’t get my boots on!” 

.::.

The walk to the diner is icy. The snow had come down in droves the night before, sweeping over the streets of Storybrooke, and while it was gorgeous, the moment they’d stepped out on their walk, he could feel the bottoms of the shoes slipping on the ice. The roads, though plowed, had been snowed back over and so he had no choice than to scoop Roland up onto his shoulders, wrap his hands tightly around his boy’s calves, and trudge up the sidewalk toward breakfast. 

Roland, however, is thrilled by it. He spends most of their walk with his mouth wide open, tongue out to catch snowflakes, and when he’s not he pats his mitten-covered hands on top of Robin’s head and plans out his day at a mile a minute. Roland wants to go throw snowballs in the park, and then he wants hot chocolate, and then Christmas movies, and he wants to  _ ‘make a big fun fire in the fireplace’.  _

They finally get to the diner fifteen minutes later, and Robin ducks through the entryway, careful to keep Roland’s head safe, before depositing the boy down onto the ground. Roland takes off running the moment his feet hit the ground though, screaming “Miss Mayor!” at the top of his lungs before launching himself into her lap. 

It’s not until then that he finally checks her out. She’s so much less dressed up today than she usually is, clad in a pair of dark jeans and a soft coffee colored sweater. She’s got Roland in her lap, has already helped him out of his heavy coat and his beanie, and she’s listening intently as he whispers something to her. When she leans back from him her smile is contagious, beaming wide across her cheeks. She leans back in and whispers something to Roland, who lets out a loud giggle, burying his face into her sweater. 

He wraps his arms tightly around her waist and she hugs him back, pressing a kiss to the curls on his head. 

Robin knows he looks like a right idiot, standing in the middle of the diner, watching the private moment between her and his son, but he can’t be bothered. She looks impeccable and the more she treats his son like her own, gives him the motherly attention that Roland’s craved for the past few years, Robin’s heart beats a bit harder. 

She looks up at him then, flashes him a bright smile and curls a hand over Roland’s back, brushing her palm up and down his sweater. 

“Morning,” he tells her. 

Robin steps up to her and smiles back, sitting in the booth seat opposite hers. Ruby’s got Henry comfortable in her arms, carrying him along with her as she chats up a table on the other side of the restaurant, so he sheds his coat and drops it in the corner of the booth, still staring at her as she holds Roland. He’s got his fingers tangled up in her hair, his head pillowed against her arm. Robin grins down, sticks his tongue out and Roland giggles, kicking his legs against the booth. 

“Hey,” she smiles. She pats Roland’s back and he hops off of her lap, moving across toward Robin. He scoops him up and drops Roland down on the inside of the booth, pushing him the coloring sheet that Granny always leaves him. “Sleep alright?” 

He grins, securing the lid on Roland’s apple juice before sliding it over to him. “I had a lot of very,  _ very  _ good dreams last night. What about you, Madam Mayor?” 

She blushes, her cheeks a dark amber in contrast to the smooth of her tan skin. “A few,” she teases, her attention turning when Ruby walks back over with Henry. 

“I swear Mills, that baby of yours is a lady magnet. That blonde girl over there’s been chatting me up for the last twenty minutes. It’s great,” Ruby smirks, grinning down at Henry. “Isn’t that right buddy?” she asks, her voice higher. “You’re gonna help me get all the ladies, aren’t you?” 

“Care to not use my son as bait, Ruby? I know he’s adorable, but I’m sure you’ve no trouble getting someone in your bed on your own.” 

Ruby chuckles and passes Henry back over, dropping her hands down to her hips. “You’ve got that right. Speaking of, how was your night? Did the two of you have any fun?” she asks, her eyebrow raised.

“We—” Robin starts, but Regina interjects before he can get another word out. 

“It was a lovely evening between two friends. Now, can we order? I have to get to the store this morning before the town center gets busy.” 

Ruby rolls her eyes and shoots Regina a glare, but pulls out her notepad anyhow and takes down their order. When she walks away Regina scoffs, murmurs something about how ‘the girls got to get herself together sooner or later’. 

Something’s off with her, that he’s certain. She’s being short with him, almost acting like last night didn’t happen, and though their conversation is still flowing, she has the majority of her attention directed onto Roland. His son’s eating up the attention, telling Regina all about his time with Granny and the cookies they’d baked the night before. He’s not jealous of his son, no, and he hadn’t expected her to fall head-over-heels for him overnight, but he can’t say that he didn’t  _ hope _ that they could talk a little more this morning about their night, or the movie night she’d agreed to, right outside of Granny’s door twelve hours earlier. 

She tells him she’s got to use the bathroom, passes Henry off to Granny, who’s been standing beside them chatting with her about the Christmas Carnival next week, and he seizes his opportunity. Roland’s eating his pancakes, propped up on his knees in the booth, pushing the butter around on top of the fluffy treat. He’s got on a bright green Christmas sweater that he’s shown off to everyone that has passed their table, and a pair of blue jeans, cuffed up at his ankles. They’re too long but he loves them, insists on wearing them even though they unravel and he slips on the backs of them constantly. They’re adorable on him though, and Robin can’t tell him no when he puts them on. He’s busy showing Granny the reindeer on his sweater when Robin mouths a silent  _ ‘thank you’  _ to her and gets up, following Regina down the hall. 

She’s already in the bathroom so he waits, leaning against the wall across from the door. He can hear the sink running, hears the tell-tale sound of the paper towel dispenser that Granny just got installed, and waits. 

When she comes out she’s got her head down, fixing something on the bottom of her sweater, so she yelps when she realizes he’s there in front of her. “Shit, Robin! You scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he grimaces, reaching out to curl his hand over her hip and tug her against him. “I wanted to steal you away for a second, while Roland was distracted.” He draws her closer and she comes to him, her hand resting on the plane of his chest, her fingertips running along his collarbone. She has an odd look on her face, so he lifts his hand up to cup her cheek and runs his thumb over the sharp line of her jaw. “Are you alright?” 

She nods, brings her hand up higher to slip against his neck. “There’s something —” she starts, and she leans up, but he misreads her intentions and leans in, capturing her lips with his own. 

She gasps into the kiss, melts up against him, her lips moving languidly over his. His hands come up to tangle in her hair and he draws her closer, runs one hand down to squeeze the plump swell of her ass. She groans, her lips parting, drawing his bottom lip between hers. Their kiss grows more and more frantic, her hands moving quickly from their place on his neck to a rough grip at the collar of his flannel. 

She pulls roughly back from the kiss, pushing him backward so he stumbles against the wall, her chest heaving with each labored breath. “Fuck, Robin, I—” she starts but he steps back in, closing the space around her, her back hitting the wall across the hall. She opens her mouth a little, he tilts her head up with his hand and she crashes her lips up against his.

She moans into the kiss, scratches her fingers across the back of his scalp, bringing his head down closer to hers. Her leg comes up and hooks around his thigh and he can feel her pushing up onto her toes, practically climbing him. She harshly nips at his bottom lip, grinds her hips against, and sucks on his plump skin like she can’t get enough. Fuck, it feels so good and he starts to press into her, skate his hands down her hips to lift her up, when he feels her palms skate down and push harshly against his shoulders, shoving him back. 

“No,  _ fuck,  _ I shouldn’t— no we can’t do this,” she stammers, running her hand over her face, bringing it up to card through her hair in an attempt to straighten it out. “Robin, I’m so sorry, we just—” she starts, and before she can get another word out Roland comes bursting around the corner, crashing into her legs. 

“I ate alllllllllllll of my pancakes!” he draws out, wrapping his arms securely around her leg. “Miss Mayor, you said if I ate them all then you’d help me make a snowman! Papa tried to help me last year, but Mr. Snowman’s nose was all sideways.” 

She looks down at Roland and he takes a second to stare at her while he’s still catching his breath. Her hair is mussed, her hands are trembling and he can’t stop staring. They look a strange shade of violet, just barely. She is absolutely shaking, stammering out an apology to Roland, that she doesn’t feel good and she can maybe help him with his snowman tomorrow. 

No, no she can’t be running like this, not now. She just kissed him— one of the best kisses he’s had in his lifetime, and she shoots him a pained look before peeling Roland from his spot at her legs, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“I— I can’t,” she shakes, roughly pushing her hair out of her face. She turns around the corner and he sees her hand reaching into her back pocket, pulling money out. 

“No, Regina wait—” he tries to say, rushing past Roland to watch as she tosses the money onto the table and swings her jacket onto her body. Granny’s still holding Henry and Regina pulls on her backpack, trembling as she wraps Henry up in his jacket and a blanket. “Where are you going? Regina, what’s wrong?” 

The last glimpse he gets is her flashing a look at him over her shoulder when she opens the door. She looks pained, her eyes a little watery and even more angry, and she mouths a soft  _ ‘I’m sorry’  _ before closing the door to the diner behind her, leaving him back where he started his morning, standing like a right idiot in the middle of the diner. 


	7. Chapter 7

Regina truly hadn’t meant to screw everything up, and especially not so soon. It was perfect, their evening together was everything that she had wanted it to be, and more. Robin was incredible, amazing, the perfect gentlemen and the perfect  _ man  _ all wrapped up into one. 

And it’s infuriating her. 

She left the diner the night before and trudged back through the snow to her house, got Henry set up in his crib and tried to sleep but failed at it though, miserably so. Each time she closed her eyes she saw him, his face, his hands trailing over her body, the way his fingers looked when they’d disappeared under her skirt and the blissful,  _ incredible _ feeling of them inside of her. It kept her up, had her twisting and turning between her sheets when her dream went from memories to much,  _ much  _ more. She woke with a sweat, that slick feeling between her thighs, and her heart pounding— and she stayed that way all morning. 

She craves control. Needs to be in charge of every situation. She’s a  _ queen _ , and this— this perfect person has infiltrated her life and her panties and now she’s distracted and angry and god, she needs to control herself. So when he’d walked into the diner that morning, still managing to look gorgeous while bundled up and holding his adorable son it flamed up the feelings she’d been trying to tamp down all morning, and then he looked so damn  _ good _ in that hallway and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to get her hands on him. 

The roads are too covered in snow for her to have driven this morning so she walks back home now after her outburst in the diner with Henry strapped to her front, her hands still trembling, though not from the cold. They get back to the house within twenty minutes, and she sets Henry up in his baby swing before collapsing down on the couch, carding her fingers through her hair.

There is something about Robin that she still can’t figure out. He’s pushy, and insistent, and it throws her each time he takes from her. No one takes from her. She’s the  _ Evil Queen _ for god's sake. Men fear her. Men  _ cower  _ at her feet, bow down and bend to her every need. But not Robin Locksley. No, he’s infiltrating himself into every part of her life— her job, her breakfast, her dreams, stealing her heart bit by bit, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

When she had transported them all to Storybrooke twenty years prior, she had resolved that a life like this was never in the cards for her. Everyone was trapped in their own little universe, time passing as if nothing was any different than the day before. People had birthdays, but no one has ever aged. They’ve celebrated each holiday, dropped a shiny glass ball in the middle of the town square each New Year’s Eve, but time wasn’t moving. The clocktower was standing still, stuck at 8:15 day after day, and there was no telling if it would ever move. No one had ever questioned it either, the boarded up library or the sad, broken clock tower. 

Their memories were all set on a cycle that gradually reset itself over time. It took her years to notice it at first, the repetition of conversations, the same, mundane tasks being repeated day after day. They were all like puppets living their own lives, but she was their puppeteer. She had control over the town, the events. She could change one simple thing, and their lives would just readjust around it. It was why bringing Henry into town didn’t effect anyone. After the first week, to them, he had always been there. And as he aged, as he grew through his life while the other children did not, they were oblivious to any differences. 

Regina hadn’t expected the curse to have lasted this long. Snow and her ridiculous Charming had always droned on about how they would always find each other, but here they were, stuck in this provincial town with the same things happening. Snow White was a schoolteacher, separated by a coma from her beloved Prince. Everyone had jobs, they had their families and their friends— they were fine, and Snow was miserably alone, and it was perfect. 

Robin and Roland were the first true thing in the town that had changed her life. Henry was a joy and completely new, but he hadn’t been around before the curse— he has no effect on their memories. Robin, though, Robin had wormed his way into her life like a parasite and the moment he had kissed her yesterday she  _ knew  _ that something bad was happening. 

Her heart was beating again, harder than it had in years. 

She knew how black her heart was, had taken it out of her chest to keep it safe more times than she could count and had watched as it blackened and chipped away as she continued to take lives for her own greed. She didn’t regret it though, she did what had to be done. But that didn’t stop the worry from lacing its way through her every thought now. Roland’s memories are coming back, and she’s sure the more time they spend together, the more that Robin will remember and that’s not  _ right.  _

When she wasn’t sleeping last night she’d gotten out a journal and started marking down each and every instance that hadn’t added up. 

The first notice had been Roland’s drawing. After he had given it to her she spent more time staring at it, her fingers tracing over the lines of his crayon outline, the dark hair in waves down her back, the “crown”, as Roland had called it, situated on her head. 

She remembers the day now, after going back in her memories and wracking each of her thoughts— she’d raided many villages, trying to remember the first time she had come in contact with them. It had been late into the winter and she was traveling from Sherwood to the Enchanted Forest, when she came across his camp set up on the side of the road, right outside of the entrance to her own kingdom. A thief, she called him. He was wrapped up in a green cloak for warmth but she knew from his looks and the band of Merry Men that had surrounded behind her that he was up to no good. He wasn’t on her territory though, and she had reluctantly agreed with King Richard the day prior that she would  _ stop  _ following through with her own executions on his territory. She hadn’t meant to burn down the village, truly wasn’t planning on it, but the bastards had knowledge of Snow’s whereabouts and she  _ knew  _ that the most effective form of interrogation was fear. 

So she lit one of the trees by their homes on fire, and watched as the portion of the forest burnt to the ground. 

Richard had been livid though— apparently he had planned on having Nottingham, some half-wit sheriff that Richard had wrapped around his finger, tax that very village later that afternoon. When he wasn’t able to, Richard requested a meeting where he came after her for the money, made her promise that she would keep her destructive path off of his land. 

So instead of crushing Robin’s heart with her fist the moment she’d crossed paths with him on his way to the Enchanted Forest, she’d made him promise that he’d keep his dirty hands out of her kingdom. 

The memory had hit her like a brick when she finally realized who he was. The infamous Robin Hood, slyest thief in the lands. 

She’d had a share of run-ins with the thiefs men. He was sneaky, unable to be caught by her guards when he would dare to traipse over the property lines and rob from her, but he was one person that she wanted to capture, to make a point that no one could mess with the wicked Evil Queen. She had never gotten a good look of his face— he always wore that ridiculous green hood so that it dropped down over his eyes. 

God, his gorgeous, blue eyes. 

She jots down the notes from their past, trying desperately to recall anything that she can remember about him from the Enchanted Forest. She remembers his men more than him, the Merry Men, as they called themselves. They weren’t as sneaky as their ringleader and were caught more often, but it wasn’t them she had wanted, it was the elusive Robin Hood she’d been after. Her knowledge isn’t much, he truly was a talented thief, but it’s enough. Something for her to go off of, to try and piece all of this together. 

She gets up from the couch, checks on Henry, who is thankfully sound asleep in his bouncer, before finding her briefcase in the dining room. She tears through it, searching until she finds the paper she’d written after she left Roland the other morning, containing all of the notes she took of his dream. 

That day she had ripped out that pathetic man’s heart and squeezed it until he told her where Snow White was. 

It wasn’t her proudest moment, and the things she had done after that were infinitely worse— the lives she took, the villages she’d burned; but that day had always sat heavier in her heart than the others, the first innocent heart she had crushed. 

And now, knowing that Roland had seen her, had those malicious memories of her burned into his brain… that shakes her rotten heart to the core. 

She scribbles down her notes, transcribing each event as she remembers it, and then again as Roland had remembered it. 

It seems the young boy is somehow linked to their past lives. It’s only come up in dreams, and Robin had mentioned during one of their breakfasts the boys frequent dreams about living in a forest. He still seems like he hasn’t caught onto the ruse and it’s enough to send her mind spinning. The more time they spend together, the more Roland starts to remember, the more “dreams” that he’s having. 

It’s only a matter of time before he starts to remember too— that the memories will outweigh the illusive dream that she created within his mind. He’ll recall his wife’s actual death, not the car crash that she put there. He’ll remember her, and all of the god-awful things she’s done, all of the sinful things that brought them here in the first place. 

If she stays with him, if she gets her happy ending, then her curse will fall apart. Bit by bit, their memories will return, and she won’t even have a chance to explain herself before the mob attacks her and either kills her, or locks her up for ruining their lives once again. 

She drops her journal down onto the coffee table and kicks off her boots, tossing them beside the couch. She checks on Henry one more time before padding her way upstairs, changing from her sweater and jeans into her Storybrooke University hoodie and a pair of yoga pants. When she gets back downstairs, Henry’s still blissfully asleep and she needs to use the moment to her advantage to catch up on the sleep she’s been so desperate for in the past month. Her brain’s still firing off scenarios that give her both things she’s searching for, Snow White’s demise and her own happy ending, but as she drifts off her mind shifts back to him, the feeling of his lips against her own, the pained look on his face as she had let her own fears take over, as she had run away from him this morning and stranded him and Roland in a way she’d promised both of them she would never do. 

.::. 

The sharp rasp of a fist on her front door startles her awake. 

Henry’s somehow still asleep, the swing rocking aimlessly back and forth, the soft lullaby playing from the speaker above his head. She’s groggy, unaware of how long she’s been asleep, only realizing that it must be afternoon from the way the sun shines through her back window. 

There’s another knock and a loud, insistent, “Regina, open the door. I can tell you’re in there,” muffled through the wood. “Come on now, you’re being ridiculous.” 

She knows that ignoring Granny isn’t going to work, but the mere thought of having to get up and talk with someone who can’t possibly understand why she acted the way she did this morning isn’t something she wants to deal with. 

“I swear to god, girl, if you don’t open this door in the next 30 seconds I’m busting it down, and waking your sleeping baby, and you and I both know that’s the last thing you want right now.” 

Shit. 

Eugenia’s right, as usual, and Regina reluctantly climbs off the couch and trudges across the foyer and toward the door. She swings the door open and before she can even get out her, “Hello,” Granny’s shoving past her, a container of something in her hands, and walking toward the kitchen. 

“Come.” 

She wants to argue with the older woman, snap back that this is  _ her _ house, and what right does she have to come in and tell  _ her _ what to do, but Granny stops her again, as if she senses what Regina's about to say before it comes out of her mouth. “There’s no point in arguing with me. We both know why I’m here, and I’m not leaving until you come to your senses.” 

She sighs, goes and sets up the baby monitor on Henry in his spot in the living room and grabs the grainy camera, bringing it with her into the kitchen. 

Granny’s already setting up lunch, the basket she’d been carrying wide open on the counter. She’s pulling out ingredients and blustering around Regina’s kitchen, pulling out pans and oils. 

“What’re you doing?” 

Granny flashes her a look over her shoulder and rolls her eyes. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m making us lunch, and we’re going to sit here and have a chat, because clearly you’re not able to realize what’s in front of you for yourself. So instead of letting you throw your life away yet  _ again,  _ I’m—” 

“I’m not throwing my life away.” 

The older woman scoffs, turns back to pull chicken, lettuce and her other favorite ingredients from the basket. Dammit, it’s ridiculous how much she loves a good Cobb Salad, and Granny  _ knows _ that, knows how much one delicious, delectable meal can change her mood right around. 

“Sit,” Granny commands her, and Regina follows through, slamming herself down on a stool at the counter with a thickly laced  _ hmph.  _

Granny putters around the kitchen, putting the chicken in the pan and pulling out her cutting board, chopping up the lettuce and tomatoes, a few hard boiled eggs and an avocado before mixing them into a bowl and pulling out the special dressing she knows that Regina would kill for. It’s making her uncomfortable but the woman’s always done this— pushed herself in wherever necessary, even when they were back in the Enchanted Forest. Granny’s muttering under her breath, something about Regina being irresponsible, just as she had as a girl, and she swears she hears the name  _ Daniel _ slip from the older woman’s lips, but as she starts to ask, Granny turns back to her and shoots her a wolfish glare. 

“Well? Are you going to scold me? I’d rather get this over with,” Regina cuts in when Granny opens a cabinet, pulling out two bowls. 

Granny cuts her another look that shuts her up, though she can feel the anger building up inside of her. “No, we’re going to sit here and eat, since you skipped your own breakfast and I know that you’d skip lunch too unless someone was here throwing food at you, and  _ then _ you and I will sit here and discuss what happened this morning.” 

“I—” Regina starts, but she purses her lips and shuts up, knowing that arguing is futile. “Fine. But I don’t need a keeper.” 

“You clearly do,” Granny snaps back, “throwing opportunities away all over again.” 

She can feel her blood boiling, her hands clenching as Granny puts the salad into each bowl, tops them both with chicken and dressing, and pushes hers across the counter. “Eat.” 

The salad is blissfully delicious. It comforts her more than she’d like to admit and she knows it’s a bit excessive, how much she enjoys Granny’s cooking, the delicious things the woman can come up with in a kitchen. It works for her heart, starts to ease the tension that she’s felt since Robin wormed his way in. She must visibly deflate because Granny gets this  _ ‘I told you so’  _ look on her face and she  _ hmms  _ smugly around her bite. 

“So,” the older woman starts, leaning against the counter. “Why’re you ruining your own life this time?” 

Regina sucks in a breath, becoming quickly interested in the edge of her bowl, pointedly avoiding Granny’s harsh gaze. “I’m not ruining anything. Haven’t done that in a long time,” she shrugs. “I’ve just realized that what I thought would work isn’t going to work anymore, and what’s the point of dragging something out when it’s never going anywhere?” She gets up from the counter, walks off to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of water. She passes one to Granny, who instead reaches into the basket and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. 

“Strong stuff works better,” the older woman grumbles, turning around to grab two glasses from the cabinet. “Now, let’s look at what you’re saying here. The two of you have been stupidly in sync for the past month.” 

Regina glares at her, reaching out for the glass. She takes the whiskey and sips it, the bronze liquid burning it’s way down her throat. It’s not as if she can tell the woman about the dreams, the memories that Roland has slowly developed over their time together. She’s trapped herself in her own hell, and regardless of how much she actually wants to tell Granny everything, it would backfire in her face before she could even blink. “It is what it is. There’s a point in my life where I just need to realize that this is it for me — me, my son, and this town. That’s it for us. And I need to be okay with that. Love’s not in the cards for me. It’s been stripped away from me far too many times, and I was foolish to think that it could happen now.” 

“Hmm,” Granny lets out around her whiskey, swirling the amber liquid in the glass in her hand. 

“It’s funny. The Evil Queen that  _ I  _ knew would  _ never _ consider backing down from a challenge.” 

No. 

Her eyes widen and she tightens the grip on her glass, trying desperately to stop the trembling in her palm. “W— what did you…?” 

The older woman shrugs, leans against the counter and pointedly stares directly at her. “You may have had a young, lovestruck heart when Daniel died, but now? Come on Regina, you’re not fooling anyone, especially me. The two of you smell sickeningly sweet whenever you’re around one another.” 

The glass slips from Regina’s hand and Granny’s palm darts out, catching the highball before it can shatter against the marble countertop. 

“G— Granny?” Regina stammers, her eyes flashing from the glass, up to the woman’s face. 

Eugenia grins, sets the glass down and takes a sip from her own. Her eyes never leave Regina’s and for a moment, they flash from their normal blue to a rough, hazy yellow, then back again. 

“Oh, oh god.” 

“Go ahead, say what you’re thinking,” Granny prys. She turns and grabs the empty bowls and pans, turning on the sink to let it warm up. 

Regina drops her head into her hands, cards her fingers through the dark, thick tresses at the base of her scalp.  _ Fuck _ . No one’s supposed to remember— the curse was supposed to have wiped out everything except for her own memories. Trapped in her own form of hell for all eternity, her own self punishment so she could reap her on reward. It takes her a moment to get herself together, to stop the harsh beating of her chest, the painful headache blooming in the back of her skull. “How long?” 

“About five years. My memory never really left me completely, but I didn’t know that until it all came back.” 

Shit. Five years. Five  _ years,  _ the one woman that Regina had confided in, the only semi-real friend she had in this god-forsaken town, had her memories. Knew of the curse she’s created, the hell they were all stuck in. Her lie was no more, unravelling piece by piece, like that ridiculous baby blanket she’d tried to knit for Henry after she’d adopted him. 

“I had been hospitalized a few years back for an allergic reaction to silver. Something had been delivered to the diner, and the last thing I remember was opening the box. I woke up in the hospital a few days later hooked up to all of these machines, and Whale made some insipid joke about how only Werewolves were damaged by silver, and it all came rushing back to me, right at that moment. I’d been having these dreams of running through the forest at lightning speed, and the heightened sense of smell had always been there, but neither of them had made any sense until I’d been able to connect the dots. And then it all clicked together, and the memories just came back one by one.” 

Regina looks up and she can feel the tears pooling, the frustration and anger pushing its way up, bubbling in the pits of her stomach, threatening to boil over. “Who have you told?” she growls.

Granny scoffs, takes another long sip of her whiskey. She opens the bottle and pours another glass for each of them, pushing Regina’s back across the counter. “You think any of them would believe me? Look around you, everyone’s happy here. Who am I to take their lives from them and turn it all upside down? Besides, you made this bed for yourself. You’re the only one who’s going to be able to get out of it.” 

She lets out a shuddering breath, lifts the glass and lets the burning liquid slip its way down her throat. They sit in silence for a moment — Regina internally panicking, Granny shifting through her kitchen cabinets. 

“I don’t get why you’d be willing to let this all pan out, all these years,” Regina finally speaks up. “Five years you’ve known about the curse. All of this time, and you’ve never said anything to me either? Why?” 

Eugenia eyes her over her shoulder, turns back to sift through the cabinets. “I knew that a point would come where this would all be put out in the open. Your curse wasn’t meant to last forever. I could tell that before you cast it. The energy in the air was all wrong, and as someone who’s been cursed her entire life, I can feel the difference. And besides, it’s not as if I’ve got a clean past. I’m more of a monster than you realize. This town, that diner,” she says, waving her hand around her head. “This was all a fresh start for us, myself included. I’d be an idiot to not take that opportunity, the same with you.” 

“Is that why you’re so insistent about Robin?” she asks, toying with the edge of the highball. 

She nods, switches the water off and starts scrubbing at the pan. “I’ve been around a long time. I’ve loved a lot, and in return, I’ve lost a lot. And I’m telling you, whatever's going on between you and Robin, I haven’t sensed a connection that strong in years.”

Regina feels her breath shudder, the tension in her chest rising higher and higher. She’s on the verge of panicking, takes another sip of the whiskey to calm her continuously rising nerves. She’s known about the heightened sense of smell that Granny has had for years— didn’t know that it’d come over with her into Storybrooke, but Eugenia had been a hell of a fighter in the war before she had cast her curse. She had been the one person that Regina had truly wanted on her side during the battle, though she knew that the older woman would have called her out on her quite ridiculous demands. She needed her though, knew now that she needed someone who would keep her level headed, who was willing to stop her from ruining herself over and over. 

Granny washes the last dish in the sink, puts it on the drying rack and then coughs a little, finishing off the last of her whiskey. 

“You know, you broke that boy’s heart today.” 

“Robin’s a big boy, he’ll be fine,” Regina grumbles, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the countertop. She hears Henry gurgle a little, eyes the baby-monitor carefully as her son squirms in his rocker, but eventually settles. 

“Not him. His heart will mend, sure, but the last thing I got to see before I left for the market this morning was a little brown-haired toddler crying into his Papa’s shoulder because  _ someone _ had promised him they would teach him how to make a snowman today, but instead, she ran out on her breakfast because she was being weak.” 

Shit. 

She’s awful. Selfishly awful. 

It had completely slipped her mind that she had promised Roland that they could spend the day together, and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt his spirit. The little boy loved so hard, with his entire heart, and just the mere image of him crying in the diner because she’d forgotten about their date has her already black heart cracking into rough pieces. 

“You’re in deep Regina. You need to understand that. This isn’t something to toy with— not something that you can just make disappear again when it gets tough, or someone gets hurt. I’ve lived a long time dear, and I can tell you that even if you are older than you look, you haven’t lived a life as I have. There’s something to be said for loving someone, and what it does for your heart. It’s about damn time you let yourself try and fully feel that for once.” 

“I did love,” Regina sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “And he died. He was  _ murdered,  _ just because he made the mistake of loving me. Daniel was an innocent in the spiraling downfall of my life, and he was ripped away from his own future.” She grabs the baby monitor, traces the pad of her thumb over the grainy image of her son. “I’m not going back. It’s for the best.” 

“Hmph,” Granny scoffs, coming around the other side of the counter. “You know what I think it is? I think you’ve gone  _ weak.”  _

What? 

Regina’s grip tightens on the monitor, her nails scraping against the plastic. “Excuse me?” She grits out, the fire within her starting to rise.

“You heard me girl, you’ve gone weak. You’ve found a challenge that actually scares you, and instead of facing it head on like a true Queen, you’re cowering away, like that spineless little woman your mother wanted you to be when she married you off. Never thought I’d live to see the day that the infamous Regina Mills let her heart actually stop her from getting what she wanted.” 

A surge of anger rushes through her and she stands up, shoving back the stool she’d been standing on and dropping the monitor to the marble with a sharp crack. She’s barefoot, so she’s eye to eye with the older woman, that remembrance of a burning sensation laced through her palms. “You don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” 

It shouldn’t be working— Granny’s ridiculous comments should  _ not  _ be getting a rise out of her but she can’t help it. Her heart is throbbing in her chest, thumping rapidly as the old dog continues. 

“Sure I do. You think you’re a monster. That no one can ever love you because their eternity will be doomed, all because of something that your mother did long ago. Well let me tell you girl. You think  _ you’re  _ the monster here? There’s people far worse than you in this town, lurking around every corner. This may be your curse, but no one is innocent here. And this, this is the time for a rebirth. You have a chance here, and you’re throwing it away because you’re weak, and scared.” Eugenia’s voice is thick, laced with the hatred and anger that she hasn’t heard since they were toe to toe in the Enchanted Forest, fighting a battle against one another, though neither of them truly knew why. “C’mon child, get angry. Feel it. Think about Daniel—” 

“That’s what I am doing!” Regina snaps, her hands trembling, the fire rising up to her cheeks. “That’s all I’ve been doing since last night. I’ve been up for  _ hours,  _ thinking about how all of this could go to absolute hell the moment I let myself love them. That’s all I’ve had on my mind, for  _ days.  _ That I’ll finally have what I wanted— love, a family, people that actually give a damn about me, and then the curse will break, and I’ll be alone. Again.” Her chest is heaving with each sharp word, coming out in a harsh whisper as to not wake her sleeping child in the next room over. 

“I’m the monster that trapped myself in this curse,” she continues. “Everyone here is so blissfully fucking innocent to their lives around them. But you and me, we’re stuck in it, Eugenia. This is the hell that I’ve brought upon us, and to you, I’m sorry. But you’re right— this is  _ my bed,  _ and it’s about damn time that I’ve accepted that I lie in it.” 

Granny steps closer and the two women are chest to chest. Granny looks bigger though, her shoulders square and her hands in a tight grip on Regina’s forearms. Her eyes have faded once more from blue to a devilish green, and she spits out her words as she continues. “And what happens when they all get their memories back? What’re you going to do when your curse fades, and instead of having a town full of people that love you, you’ve gone and created more enemies for yourself than the Evil Queen can handle?” 

“I can take whatever’s thrown at me.” 

Granny scoffs, shakes her head and lets out a slow laugh. “You can, until your fear of letting yourself be happy— of letting yourself  _ live  _ for once in your damn life takes back over. You have a chance here Regina. Your curse is working. You have managed to get your second chance at happiness. Why are you too stubborn, too  _ afraid _ to see that? You’re just like that scared little girl from your childhood.” 

She doesn’t say anything, just tries desperately to quell the trembling in her hands, the heat in her palms, as Granny continues. 

“Wake up and look around you. You’ve  _ won.  _ Why would you run away from that?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story so far!


	8. Chapter 8

He can see her lingering out in their driveway before she comes up to the door. 

The snow is still coming down, though not as hard as earlier in the morning, and he’s watching her— waiting to see what her next move is. She’s got Henry with her, wrapped up securely in one of those front-side baby carriers, his head covered in a knit cap, his little face buried into the fleece of her jacket. She’s doing that adorable mom-rock back and forth, her arm wrapped securely around her son, her eyes darting up and down the street. She looks… nervous, pensive, and he’s struggling to not rush outside and wrap her up in his arms, apologize for pushing their relationship too hard too quickly— do whatever he can to promise her that they can be whatever she wants them to be. 

Roland’s been pouting all morning, shuffling around their living room with his stuffed dog, staring out the window looking at the snow. He’d been so upset when Regina disappeared, and though Robin had reassured him that the two of them could make the snowman together when the weather calmed down, he just mumbled that  _ ‘s’not the same’ _ and curled up on the couch under his blanket, choosing to watch a movie instead. 

He’s still on the couch now, hasn’t yet noticed Regina outside, clutching his dalmatian in one arm and his juice box in the other. Robin’s not sure if Regina’s seen him either, watching her from their living room window, staring out at her perfect form, waiting to see what her next move is. He doesn’t want to push her— already feels horrible for his actions that morning. 

She finally takes a step forward and he can see her carefully take a breath, tuck her arm under Henry’s bum and take a few more steps toward the door. He practically jumps, rushes over toward the door, hesitates for a moment before he mumbles a quiet  _ ‘oh, to hell with it’ _ and swings it open. 

Regina looks startled, stops dead in the middle of his walkway, her eyes wide when they connect with his. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t mean to but he blurts it out, the steadiness of his voice surprising even himself. 

Her free hand is shaking and she keeps opening and closing it in a fist, ultimately shoving it into her pocket. “I— well,” she starts, sucking in a deep breath, her eyes fluttering closed. She stays like that for a moment, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath, before opening them back up, and it’s like her whole demeanor changes, her back straightening up, and she takes another step closer to his porch. She gets this dark glint in her eye, her arm tightening protectively around Henry, the heels of her boots echoing against the wood planks on his steps as she moves up his porch. “I didn’t mean to run off like that this morning… ” she trails. “I just had a moment.” 

“Regina,” he tries, stepping closer, his hand instinctively coming up to curl at her elbow. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that so soon. I didn’t— you just looked so good, and with last night, I just…” he cringes, running his hands through his messy, short hair. “I’ve gone and buggered this all up, haven’t I?” 

She smiles, steps closer and brings her hand up, slipping her gloved fingers over the smooth curve of his neck. “You’ve done nothing of the sort,” she tells him, bringing her free hand down to tangle her fingers with his. “I… ” she stops. She looks so beautiful, her dark hair framing her face, the fallen snowflakes stuck to it, a white contrast to the stark black strands. 

“I’m not very good at all of this,” she says, waving her hand around him. “I’m sure you can see that’s painfully true. I haven’t been in any sort of…  _ anything  _ in a long time. But…” she hesitates again, her tongue darting out to swipe over her bottom lip, her thumb tracing over the sharp line of his jaw, “I want to get this right. For you and Roland and Henry and… well, and myself.” 

“You’re important to me, Robin. You and Roland, the two of you have waltzed right into my heart, and I don’t want to lose  _ either _ of you. I just—” 

“I pushed you too far. God, I’m so sorry love. If you’ll forgive me—” 

“I do,” she cuts in, leaning up to brush a kiss over his cheek. “I do forgive you.” 

He can’t stop the grin on his cheeks, the excitement coursing through him. “You’re serious? Anything with you— any time I’m able to spend with you is exactly where I want to be. I don’t want to rush this if you're uncomfortable.” 

She gets this soft smile on her face, one that he hasn’t seen often, and she leans in and kisses his lips quickly, pulling away before he can react. She avoids his statement but his heart swells when he hears what she says next. “I heard a certain little boy was  _ quite _ upset that he wasn’t able to make his snowman this morning,” she whispers. 

Robin nods, bringing their joined hands up so he can drop a kiss over the back of her glove-covered hand. “He was a bit hurt. He’s inside now watching a movie, if you’d like to come in and join us? Roland’s requested a nice afternoon snack before dinner, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him no. The oven’s preheating now, if you guys want to come in?” 

Regina glances down at Henry, lets go of Robin’s face to tug his hat off of his little head. “I think we’d both love that.” 

He ushers her through the door, calls out to Roland where his son’s still posted up in the living room. Robin hears him grumble, murmuring something about how his movie’s over, and he’s then padding his way out of the living room, dragging the tail of his blanket up the hardwood floor. He’s practically cocooned in it, the fleece snug against his jaw where he has the blanket bunched up in his hands, his unruly brown hair sticking straight up. 

“Miss Mayor?” 

She gives Roland this soft smile and he swears his son melts at the sight, shuffling his way across the foyer and pressing himself hard against her legs. His arms come around her thighs, blanket and all, and Roland hugs her tight, his face buried into the fabric of her jeans. 

At some point Regina had taken her gloves off because she’s carding her bare fingers through Roland’s hair, scratching at the back of his scalp with her nails. She wraps her other arm around Henry and carefully kneels down, collecting Roland into her arms in a tight hug. “Hi baby,” he hears her whisper, her hand drawing circles up and down his back. 

“Miss Mayor, we didn’t make our snowman,” he whines, his head buried now into her shoulder. The dalmatian is smushed tight between their bodies, the ear of the stuffed toy brushing against her jaw as she leans down and whispers something that Robin can’t catch into his son’s ear. 

He’s in love with her. 

Christ, the feeling hurls itself at him, attacks at his chest and his heart with how much he truly cares for this woman. She’s got her own son against her chest, his wrapped up in her arms, drawing Roland out of the funk he’s been in all morning in record time. He’s giggling now, his cheeks rosy, his fingers toying with the edge of her jacket as she continues to whisper something to him, and he tries his best to whisper back, asking her if they can go outside. 

Regina looks up at him, her dark eyes focusing in and it takes his breath away, how bloody gorgeous she is, how she’s fallen into this natural role of a mum this quickly. “Well Roland,” she says back, tickling her fingers against his side. “I think that’s going to be up to your Dad.” 

Roland turns his head and Robin can’t stop himself from laughing at the pitiful face his son gives him. He’s turned his bottom lip out into an obnoxious pout, and he’s giving him these puppy-dog eyes that have Robin turning his head to attempt to hide his snicker. “Papa,” Roland asks, “Can Miss Mayor and I go play outside?” 

“Hmm,” he draws out, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you and Regina go out, then what will Henry and I do?” 

Roland purses his lips and taps his forehead, humming as he gets lost in deep thought. “You can make the cookies! R’gina and I can make a snowman.” 

“Well then,” Robin trails, stepping closer to the two of them. “When you put it that way, I do think that Henry and I could have some fun making cookies. What do you think Madam Mayor? Would you like to go outside for a bit?” 

Regina flashes this fantastic smile up at him and stands, patting her hand against Henry’s back, the other toying with Roland’s curls. “I think some outside time with one of my favorite boys sounds lovely.” 

Roland cheers, pulling up as much of the blanket as he can so he doesn’t trip over it, running upstairs while yelling,” I’m gonna get my snowpants!” 

Regina snickers, carefully works the straps of the wrap down, holding onto Henry tightly. “Do you mind…?” she trails off, and he reaches out to scoop Henry up from her arms. The little boy giggles loudly, his eyes lighting up as he sets his eyes on Robin, and Robin steals the moment to tickle his belly and chat with him.

He can see Regina stealing glances at them as she unravels the wrap from her chest, nibbling at her bottom lip. He’s trying to not make it obvious that he’s watching her too but he’s so intrigued in what she’s thinking, the way that her brow furrows when Henry pats his chubby fingers against his own cheeks and gurgles. Before he lets his mind get the better of him he turns to her, grins and chuckles at her. “Something on your mind?” 

Her eyes flash up at him and she smiles, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth once more, her tongue darting out to sooth over the skin. Her lip is red, swollen from her own misuse of it, and he wishes for a moment that their sons weren’t in the house with them, that he could take her in his arms and kiss her until her top lip is just as swollen as the bottom. 

“Just admiring the view.” 

Robin grins, can’t help himself, watching as she unzips her coat and lets it slip off of her shoulders. She looks so soft, wearing a navy sweater with a pair of black jeans, the bottom cuffs tucked into her snow boots. She has a white scarf wrapped around her neck that she peels off next, putting her coat and her other belongings on the front table. “Hmm,” she hums, stepping up closer to him. She gently rests her hand on Henry’s back and the boy turns, babbling nonsensically at her. Her smile is radiant and she leans in, pressing kisses to her son’s cheeks before turning her attention back onto him. 

“You okay with him? I can take him out with us if that’s easier.” 

Robin shakes his head, bounces Henry in his arms, eliciting a loud squeal from him. “Of course. Give the little man and I some bonding time. Roland’s thrilled to have the time with you, I know that.” 

She brings her free hand up, trailing her nails over the hairs on his arm, slipping the pads of her fingertips up beneath his sleeve to brush against his bicep. “Do you two have plans tonight?” She starts, taking a second to bring her hand back down his right arm. Her hand wraps around his forearm, flipping his arm over, her thumb tracing over the pattern of his long-faded lion tattoo. 

“Not really,” he whispers, his eyes watching her carefully, following her finger as she traces each line of the tattoo. “I really should get that old thing touched up.” 

“I like it,” she tells him, her free hand coming from Henry’s back to join her other, both of her thumbs massaging into the tattoo. “It’s very regal.” 

“I’ve had it since I was a teen,” he tells her, letting her continue to touch him, the softness of her hands brushing over his rough forearm. “I was a bit rebellious, breaking into places with my mates, pocketing things we had no business keeping. My father was furious about it— the old man constantly roughed me up about it, told me how much of a bloody idiot I was when I’d messed up, so I ran off. That was when I’d met John and Will, my two best mates. The three of us were a bunch of misfits living out in the woods for the longest time, and so we decided to get tattoos. John’s is on his calf, he went with a Phoenix. We wanted to show how we were becoming men, growing up on our own. Will, though, the dumb bloke got a hippo, right on his arse.” 

She giggles, bringing her hand down and tangling her fingers with his, giving them a firm squeeze. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” 

Robin smirks, starts to tell her another story about their boyhood antics when there’s a loud crashing sound coming from upstairs, and Roland’s loud “oops!” echoing down the steps. 

“I should go help him with that,” Regina says, separating their hands. “You’ve got Henry?” 

“We’re good, go on.” 

He takes the youngest into the kitchen when Regina disappears up the steps, bouncing Henry in his arms as he carries him. “Well then little bud, it’s just the two of us.” 

Henry gurgles, his eyes catching the shiny reflection on the tin pan on the counter. He points to it, his body reaching over Robin’s shoulder to go for it, and Robin laughs. “Give me one second Henry,” he tells him. He swears he still has some of Roland’s baby things, digs through the closet til he finds the baby seat and sets it up, putting Henry down in it. He gets the disposable tin off the counter and hands it to Henry, laughing loudly as the boy bangs his hands on the tin, the noise making him squeal with joy. He goes on to mixing the batter, catching snippets of Regina and Roland’s conversation as she helps get the boy ready to go outside. 

It’s all so domestic. 

He lets himself believe that this could be their always, that they could be this picturesque family raising their sons in her mayoral mansion behind a white picket fence. He’s mad about her, he knows that they have a lot to talk about, that whatever happened this morning in the diner isn’t past them in any sense. But he still wants her— any part of her that she’s willing to give him. Even if it’s just this, lazy snowy afternoons with their sons, making cookies and playing outside, he’ll take it. 

One moment with Regina Mills is enough for a lifetime of memories. 

He hears them coming back down the steps, Roland talking at a mile a minute about all of the things he wants to do with her this afternoon. She rounds the corner with his son in her arms, his body wrapped up snugly in his big, one piece snowsuit. His arms are sticking straight out to his sides, popping back up each time he tries to put them down from the immense amount of puffy, warm, waterproof material under his arms. 

“You look like you’re struggling there a bit Roland,” Robin chuckles, glancing down at Henry. He’s still happily playing with his pan, swishing it around between his outstretched little legs, giggling joyfully. “You sure you’re ready to go outside?” 

“Yup!” He shouts, wiggling until Regina puts him down. Roland tries walking over to Robin but it turns out more like a waddle, his snow boots clomping against the kitchen tile. He’s got on his yellow beanie, his curls sticking out from beneath the hat, and his mittens are hanging from a string, smacking against his waist as he tries to waddle across the room. “Papa look! I have my boots on. They’re yellow, like my hat!” He’s positively excited, bouncing on his toes as he talks. “Miss Mayor’s gotta get her snow stuff on too! But she doesn’t have a hat.” 

“I’ll be alright without a hat Roland,” she starts, but Roland shakes his head and tries but fails to cross his arms. 

“Nuh uh. Papa says that if there’s snow on the ground, then you gotta wear your hat, so your ears stay warm.” 

Robin can’t stop himself from letting out a laugh. “The lad’s got a point. You can borrow one of mine, if you’d like?” 

“She likes,” Roland cuts in, waddling off up the hallway to the basket that holds all their winter gear. “I’m pickin’ it out.” 

Regina turns back to him and Henry, smiling down at him as he grips and un-grips the edge of the tin. “He’s loving that thing,” she laughs, sticking her tongue out at Henry, making a silly face at him. His cheeks spread wide in a smile and he beams, his whole body wiggling in excitement. “He’s probably going to get hungry soon. I put my diaper bag over by the door— there’s a couple jars of baby food in there, you can pick whichever. He really loves the banana one though. You can come get me and I’ll feed him when—” 

“Regina,” Robin cuts in, stepping up to her. “He and I will be just fine inside for a bit.” 

She purses her lips and steps closer to him, lines her body tight with his and steps him back until his ass is against the counter. 

Hell, she smells so good, feels so soft against him. Her hips are nestled tight against his own, the wisps of her dark hair so close that they’re touching his cheeks and his neck. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, goes from gripping the edge of the counter to putting them on her hips, his fingertips brushing against the swell of her ass. He can still hear Roland rummaging through the basket, talking loudly to himself about having to find a purple hat for her, so they have a moment, god bless. 

“So later,” she starts, her fingers coming up to play with the hairs on his neck. It feels so good, the pads of her fingers smooth against his scalp and he closes his eyes for a moment, gets lost in the feeling of her. “I was thinking, if you and Roland aren’t busy, we could have dinner together?”

His eyes open so he can shamelessly watch her lips move, distracted by the thought of what they’d feel like against his own now, how soft they’d be. When she kissed him earlier it was perfection, even though fleeting, and he feels her hand come around, cupping his cheek, her thumb tracing over his jawline. 

“Robin.” 

He blinks once, twice, and shakes his head a little, smiling down at her. “Sorry love, got a bit lost there,” he grimaces, tugging her hips closer to his own. “You asked about dinner?” 

“Mhm,” she mumbles, her thumb slipping up to run over his bottom lip. “The snow’s still coming down hard and after Roland and I come in, it’ll be close to dinner. I thought we could spend it together, the four of us.” 

He nips at her thumb, pressing a kiss over it with a grin. “I think dinner sounds perfect.” 

Regina leans in at that, moving her thumb and brushing a kiss over his lips. Fuck, it’s bloody perfect and he quickly brings his hands up from her hips to her waist, pulling her in tight against his body. She cups his neck and tilts her head, sucks on his bottom lip and soothes over it with her tongue. He opens up to her and she lets out this adorable, sexy moan, her tongue slipping into his mouth and oh, hell she tastes so damn good. His hands work their way up and down her back, grazing further and further down until he has two, firm handfuls of her ass, hiking her up and against his thigh. She gasps, digs her nails into the skin at the back of his neck and groans into their kiss, grinding her hips against the muscle in his thigh. 

He recognizes the sound of the closet closing, the clomping of his son’s boots up the hall and before he has the chance to react she’s pulling back quickly, pressing her hands to his chest and pushing herself away, putting a foot of space between the two of them. Her thumb comes up quick, wiping at the corner of his mouth, and he sees the ruby red from her lipstick transferred from his lips to her finger. 

“Found it!” 

Roland stomps into the room, a purple knit cap clutched in his hand, waving it up and down. “It’s snowman time! Right Regina?” 

“Right,” she breathes out, carding her fingers through her hair. Within seconds she goes from flustered to poised, turns herself around so that she’s facing Roland. Her back is straight, her hands falling to her hips and she looks regal, like she wasn’t just snogging him senseless seconds ago. “Well then, let’s head on out.” She flashes a look over her shoulder, smirks at him and gives him a headnod. “See you in a bit?” 

“There’ll be fresh cookies and a dinner menu planned upon your return.” 

.::.

Spending time with Roland fills her with pure, unbridled joy, and she loves it. 

He’s so excited to be outside with her, has this sort of run-wobble figured out so he can spin in circles in the yard. He keeps tripping over his boots, asks her politely if she can fix his shoes so he can run some more, and then he’s off, tripping again moments later and landing with a bright laugh as he falls into the snow. They start to make their snowman, working together to pack the snow up into a nice, big pile. He can’t quite move his arms, is struggling to put them in front of him to help collect and pat the snow down into a clump so she’s doing most of the work on her own, listening as he instructs her on where to fill in the holes. 

“Do you like snow?” 

“I do,” she smiles, using her arm to pull up a big pile of snow, adding it to the base. “What about you?” 

“Mhm,” Roland nods, his whole upper half moving as he bobbles his head. “Mama and I used to play in the snow before she went away. We made snowballs and threw them at Papa.” 

Regina chuckles, packs up the snow firmly and falls back to sit on her calves. “I’m sure he loved that.” 

“He did!” Roland shouts, bending over to try and push more snow into their second section. “We made snowmen too, but Papa wasn’t good at it. He didn’t smooth out all the sides right, like this,” he says, trodding over back toward her. He takes his mittened hand and pats the snow down, smoothing his hand in circles. “Papa’s snow is messy. But you do it right. Your snow is pretty.” 

He’s so sweet and she reaches out, tugs him back into her chest for a tight hug. The two of them start putting together the second piece and she helps guide his arms so he does some more work this time, helping him to round out the middle. “You’re very kind, Roland, you know that?” 

“Miss Blanchard gave me a green star for being nice! I shared my crayons with my friend when he lost his. If I get all my stars in a week then I get to get a snack out of the snack box. I like to get the gummies, but my friend Rose likes to get the cookies. They have chocolate on ‘em.” He squirms against her and she lets go, watching as he wanders over toward a tree to pick up sticks. “Regina, can I ask you somethin’?” 

She gets up and lifts their second piece, setting it on top of the base. “What’s that darling?” 

“Do you miss anybody?” 

She stops, shifts her footing and looks at him as he waddles back with a big stick in his arms. “What do you mean?” 

He huffs as he drops the stick, looks up at her with big brown eyes, his dimples deep on his cheeks. He looks so sweet, so innocent, his arms sticking out at his sides, his hat snug on his head— the boy’s completely adorable, glaring at her with a straight lipped smile. “Do you miss someone? Like I miss my Mama, a whole bunch.” 

“Oh,” she sighs, sucking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “I do miss a few people. Why do you ask?” She kneels down and Roland shuffles up closer to her. 

“Papa says that even though we can’t see Mama, she still lives in here,” he says, placing his right palm over where his heart rests in his chest, then mirroring over her own blackened heart with his left hand. “I miss my Mama a whole lot, but sometimes she comes to me in my sleep and tells me she loves me. What about you?” 

Her hand comes up to cover Roland’s where it rests against her chest. “My Papa is gone too, just like your Mama. My friend Daniel, too.” 

“Papa says it’s okay to miss people. It’s sad, but they’re living here in our hearts, and in the clouds and the trees. Sometimes when we both miss Mama, we go camping. I get to sleep in my sleepin’ bag, and we tell the stars  _ all _ our stories, and then they go make sure Mama hears them.” 

She takes Roland’s hand in her own, squeezing it against her chest. “Do they go share your stories?” 

“Yup! When Mama comes to see me she tells them back to me. She likes to talk about all the fun things we used to do, when we lived with the trees. She showed me how Uncle John would use his big staff, and Papa would help me learn all the parts of his arrows.” 

“D— did he now? When you lived in the woods?” 

“We did in my dream,” he tells her. “I don’t remember a whole bunch, but I liked learning about the arrows.” 

She takes a moment, helps Roland start to put together their last piece. “Does your Papa come talk to you in your dreams too?” 

“He did once, my friend Daniel too. But they don’t often. Not as much as it seems your Mom does.” She knows that her heart’s too dark for anything like that— that the light magic the world uses to allow spirits to visit, to pass back and forth between dreams is too pure for her soul to allow. 

Roland seems to accept that though, goes back to swirling his hands in circles over the hardening snow. “R’gina look! He’s almost done!” 

His excitement is contagious and she grins, leans down to pick him up onto her hip. “He is, isn’t he? We need to give him some features and a name.” 

He wiggles in her arms, his own snowsuit covered arms coming around to hug her tight against her neck. “Thank you for helping me,” he snuggles himself against her. “You’re a really good Mama, Miss Mayor.” 

Her heart choenches in her chest and she reaches a hand up, cups the back of his skulls and shifts him so she can press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re a really good son, Roland Locksley.” 

The comment makes his cheeks redden, even more than they already are from the chill of the snow whipping around them. “Can you and Henry come to my birthday party next weekend? Papa said I can invite all my friends.” 

“Henry and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's taken the time to read and comment over the past few chapters! It means the world!


	9. Chapter 9

It’s getting late, but she can’t bring herself to pull herself from the warm, safe feeling of Robin’s arms around her. 

Their delicious dinner— he’s a  _ good _ cook, far better than her— paired with a few glasses of wine, was enough to have her practically crawling to his couch. Roland and Henry played for a while on the floor after they ate, Roland absentmindedly watching a movie while Henry swung around some of Roland’s baby toys that Robin had found in the closet. The older boy continued to dote over the younger, showing him all of his action figures and telling Henry wild stories about them, which made Henry laugh and laugh late into the evening. 

While Robin gave Roland a bath she knew that she should go home, should tuck her son into his own crib but she didn’t want to, not just yet. So instead she sets up the pack and play that Robin had found in Roland’s room, next to the “big boy bed” that he insisted on showing her every inch of, presses a kiss to her Henry’s forehead and lets him sleep. Roland had come up moments later and whispered goodnight to the younger boy before climbing into Regina’s lap where she’d sat on his bed. He fell asleep within minutes, worn out from the excitement of the day, and it took careful maneuvering for Robin to extract Roland from her lap and tuck him into his own bed. 

It’s how they found themselves here, the television running the end credits of whatever show Robin had turned on when they went back downstairs. She hadn’t paid it any mind, was too focused on the steady, pure heartbeat  _ thump- thump- thumping  _ of his heart against her ear. He’s splayed out lounging on the couch and she’s tucked in against his side, her head pillowed against his chest. His hand has been rubbing up and down her back, toying with the exposed skin of her back from where her shirt’s risen up and it’s nice. She got her hand wrapped around his waist, her fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, tracing circles against his smooth skin. 

She’s not tired, just content. Comfortable. It’s not like her to want to cuddle but she likes it, the warm feeling of his chest against her own, the rhythmic pace of their matched breaths. 

The credits finish rolling on the movie and she feels Robin shift, feels his hand squeeze her hip then trails down, brushing against the curve of her ass. “You good, darling?” 

Regina smiles against his chest, snuggles into him and shifts her arm so she’s sitting up a little higher, her leg twisting to drape over his thighs. “Good,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, another to the peak of his collar bone sticking out from his shirt. “You?” she asks. 

“Never been better,” he whispers back. He turns his head and they stay there for a moment, the silence wrapping them up, only the beats of their hearts echoing between them. It feels like decades before he leans in, uses his free hand to tilt her cheek towards him, and captures her lips with his own and god, it’s so good she wants to scream. 

She shifts up, cups the stubble at his cheek with her palm and leans in, parting her kiss to pull his bottom lip between her teeth. He’s  _ strong,  _ reaches his hands down and cups the swell of her ass, sits up and lifts her right along with him. She gasps into their kiss, grips the muscled curve of his biceps as she moves and when he pulls her into his lap, her legs immediately come around to straddle his hips. 

The mood between the two of them shifts and she feels heat spread through her chest, stretching all the way to her fingertips as she scratches at his neck, just light enough to tease him, make him growl into their kiss and pull her closer. They trade kisses, slower but so firm, so punctuated, like he’s exploring her. Last night had been quick, his fingers between her legs, a rushed, half-dressed orgasm. But tonight’s different. Tonight, he’s drawing moans from the back of her throat, making her press her body flush against his, her breasts tight against his chest, his hands cupping her ass to hold her hips as they rock against him. She’s craving him, within a matter of seconds has gone from calm and to the fire burning through her heart and straight between her legs. She wants the change to get to know him, the way he’d gotten to know her the night before. She wants him on her lips, against her tongue, wants to know what it’ll feel like when they both battle one another for control.

One of his hands comes around in front, brushes her stomach and swiftly starts unbuttoning her pants. Her breath catches, expecting the hot slide of his palm, the warm press of his fingers, but instead, his intentions are slightly more innocent than that, freeing up space in the tight confines of her jeans so he can skate his hands down the back of her pants, his palms coming in contact with the bare skin of her ass. He pulls her down hard just as he thrusts his hips up, using his hands to grind her against the bulge in his jeans. It shoots a flare of desire down her spine, her fingers tightening into his hair, using her advantage to tilt his head and delve deeper into his kiss, her tongue swiping over his own. 

She moans into their kiss, takes from him, kissing him until she’s breathless. She feels the burning need for air in her chest, breaks their kiss but doesn’t budge though, stays so close that with each rise and fall of her she can feel his own chest against hers. It’s still so silent around them, between them, their mixed breaths coming out in quick puffs as they catch up on air. Robin’s hands are still on her ass, squeezing and palming her, maneuvering her hips even more to grind her against his growing erection. 

“I want you,” she finally whispers, scratching her nails lightly through his hair, drawing him impossibly closer. Their foreheads are pressed together and she leans in, gives him a quick kiss, nipping at his bottom lip. She skates her hand down, nudges it between their warm bodies and palms him over his jeans. He’s hard, straining against the fabric and the feeling makes her moan. 

She loves to give pleasure when  _ she  _ wants to. Her whole life had been spent dishing out for everyone else when she was forced— pleasing her mother by conforming to her impossible standards, allowing Leopold to take advantage of her because she was young and naive. There’s a thrill in sharing herself with someone like Robin, someone who cares for the real her, who is grateful for her and wants for nothing in return. Allowing herself to give pleasure when she chooses to though,  _ that _ she loves, and she wants to show him. 

“Gods yes,” he growls, thrusting his hips up against her palm, pulling her down swiftly at the same time so she lets out a rushed breath. She’s wet, can feel her slick heat scrape against the rough lace of her panties, every sense heightened each time he draws her closer and thrusts his hips against hers. “Need you darling, so much.” 

She dives back in, pulls a drawn out, deep kiss from him before breaking it off again, slipping her hand down between then to unbutton his pants and slip her hand down the front, cupping his hard length with her palm. 

He stands and she lets out a bright laugh, quickly wrapping her legs around his waist, one arm wrapped tight around his shoulder. She’s still got a hand down the front of his pants, working him up as much as she can in the tight confines between them, her thumb circling over his smooth skin. 

“I want to taste you,” she growls into his ear, grinding down against him, working him over with her palm as he walks her down the hallway. “I want to know what you feel like on my lips.” 

“Fuck— should be illegal for you to say things like that,” he groans. He’s stronger than she let herself realize, presses her to the wall in the hallway and pulls one hand from her ass, bringing it up to palm her breast through her sweater. He dips his hand under the coarse fabric and pushes her the cup of her bra down, his thumb pressing tight circles against her nipple. Regina lets out a gasp when he pinches and rolls the taunt skin between the calloused pads of his fingers. 

She tries to regain her composure, kissing him again, working her tongue over his own, pressing an open kiss to his lips over and over. “Now, take me to bed.” She almost lets the thickly laced  _ thief _ slip from her tongue but she catches herself, loses the thought just as quickly as it’d come into her mind when he opens the door next to her hip and carries her into his bedroom. 

It’s dark, a rich hardwood lining the floors, following a pattern up the wall behind his bed. He flicks on the lights, just a dim glow cast across the room and walks her over to the bed, setting her down along the edge. Her hands fly straight to his pants, unzipping him, curling her fingers over the waistband then pushing down his jeans and boxers. He’s hard and she drags her nails lightly up the taunt muscle of his thigh, wraps her slim fingers around his thick length and twists, slipping off of the edge of the mattress and down to her knees. 

“Bloody hell,” he groans, carding his fingers through her hair, his breath hitching when she sits up, leans in and traces her lips over his length. “Regina, you don’t—” 

“Shush,” she chides, taking him into her hand, leaning in to suck him into her mouth. 

Sex is a powerplay for her. She loves both sides of it— the thrill of being tied, of someone controlling her orgasms, bringing her up over and over until she’s begging for mercy, but also the power she can wield with a man, helpless beneath her grasp, begging for  _ her _ to touch him. She looks up at Robin, his eyes dark, pupils dilated as he brushes her hair back from her forehead, his jaw trembling as she takes him in further. 

He’s not pushing, not gripping her hair or thrusting his hips. He’s so  _ gentle,  _ so soft and it’s further past anything she’s ever felt before. He’s got a rougher side - she caught a glimpse of it the other night when he’d fingered her on her couch but this here, the moment he gasps out her name when she runs her tongue over his cock and pulls back until her lips are wrapped just around the tip, she sees another side of him. 

His leg twitches beneath her left hand and he starts whispering out expletives, dropping a low, growled out  _ “fuck”  _ when she grips the base of his cock and starts pumping her hand. 

“Regina, love—  _ fuck, like that, gods darling—  _ you’ve got to stop.” 

Her eyes glance up and she pulls off of him, swipes her tongue over her lips to taste him. “But I don’t want to yet,” she smirks, leaning in to slide her tongue along the underside of his length. He shudders, his fingertips tightening against the back of her head and she takes him back into her mouth as far as she can, sucking. 

His hips thrust involuntarily and he chokes out her name, gripping her head now with both hands. She can tell he’s trying to hold her back, the words spilling from his mouth that her  _ ‘mouth feels like heaven’ _ but she lifts a hand up and cups his balls, swirling them teasingly in her hand. “I can’t— I won’t last, fuck, Regina,  _ please love _ , _ god, I want to fuck you darling—”  _

Regina pulls back, sucks in a deep breath when she releases him, holding him there on that edge. He’s practically shaking and she can tell he’s so close to coming, his chest vibrating with each breath. “I want you to come,” she breathes out, sitting up on her knees to readjust. “I want to taste you Robin, please, please let me taste you.” 

“Fuck Regina, you're a bloody goddess,” he chokes out, emitting a loud moan when she takes him back into her mouth. She works him up with her hand, her lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, her tongue lavishing over the smooth skin. His once gentle grip is beginning to falter and though he’s not pushing her, not even  _ guiding  _ her, that ounce of dominance that she found in him the night before seems to be itching to come out and play and she’s turned on just thinking about it. 

Tonight’s not about her though. She wants to know him, wants to know exactly what makes him tick, how he reacts. If they’re going to do this,  _ really  _ do this, like she knows they both want, then she wants to know everything about him, and as she leans in and takes him into her mouth as far as she can, she learns very quickly just where Robin Locksley's breaking point is. 

_ “Fuck,  _ gods your mouth is fantastic— I can’t hold it Regina.” 

She moans around his cock and laves her tongue over him once more, bobbing her head, her hand wrapped around him, fucking him with her palm. His hips thrust, his grip tightening in her hair, holding her to him as he gasps out her name once more, a string of  _ “fuck, that’s it, gods yes darling, bloody brilliant with your lips wrapped my cock, I’m— thats— fuckkk”  _ slipping from him as he comes. 

She swallows as he finishes, carefully takes her mouth off of him when he’s practically spent. He releases her hair and she leans back, catching her breath, lifting her hand up to bring her hair out of her face. She reaches down and tugs the boxers he still has wrapped around his ankles back up his legs, trying to give herself a moment to quell the pulse she feels between her legs. She looks up and Robin’s staring at her— no, more like  _ gawking.  _ He looks completely in awe and it’s making her blush, making her want to push her down onto the bed and do delicious, unsavory things to her. She starts to get up on her own but he extends a hand, uses his body weight to pull her up and into his arms and firmly plants a kiss on her. 

She grabs his bicep, her eyes fluttering closed as she kisses him back. He opens up, his tongue pushing its way into her mouth and the groan he lets out goes right between her legs. He’s grabbing at her more possessively than before, tearing his lips from her own, moving quickly to latch onto her neck, nipping at the exposed skin, his hand pushing down toward her, fingertips dipping beneath her open jeans. “You’re perfect,” he whispers into her skin, dragging his teeth over the muscle in her neck before soothing it with kisses, pushing his fingers down beneath her panties. He groans into her neck when his fingertips come in contact with her wet heat and fuck, her body reacts before she even thinks about it, spreads her legs just a little and thrusts her hips against his hand. 

“It’s about time for me to head out,” she gasps as he runs his free hand up the inside of her sweater, pushing the fabric up, up until he almost has it off of her. “It’s getting late, and I have an early meeting with the police department.” His hands feel so good, the rough scrape of his calloused fingertips against her clit, and she lets herself indulge for a moment as he sucks on the skin at her collarbone, holding her impossibly close. His hands are  _ big,  _ the left wrapped tightly against her waist, holding her to him. 

“Over my dead body,” he growls, sliding his hand up just enough so his thumb is against her bra, circling the rough lace against her nipple, matching the pace of the single finger he has circling between her legs. She brings her arms up to drape over his shoulders, rolls her hips against his hand, pressing herself against him, tucking her face into the crux of his neck as he pushes the scrap of fabric out of the way and takes her whole breast into his warm palm. “Don’t leave yet Regina, please,” he draws out. His finger presses harder tight circles against her clit and she lets out a quiet moan, making her grip on his shoulder tighten. “Let me take care of you.” 

She wraps her hand around his neck and tilts his head, presses her forehead to his and grinds herself down against his hand. “Y— yesterday,” she breathes out, trying to gain back the upper hand again, but he pinches her nipple, bites into her neck and bruises a kiss to her skin and moans, dragging her lips over his cheek. 

Fuck, she wants him to take her to bed. 

“Nonsense,” he whispers, nudging her back until she feels the backs of her thighs brush the comforter, dotting kisses along her jaw, up to her lips, his finger still drawing slow, perfect circles against her clit, making her crave more. He slips his fingers down further and dips one down against her opening, his palm keeping the pressure against her clit.

She should get Henry from the pack and play and take care of herself at home, but her hesitation is only there to take control over the situation. She needs to let up, should listen to Granny and eat the damn cookie in this situation, and when he pushes a finger inside of her, pinches her nipple again and twists it just enough that she clenches around him and stifles a moan into his collarbone, she gives in. 

_ “Fuck, you’re so wet. Gods Regina, please let me taste you.”  _

Well then. 

Who is she to deny him that? 

Before she can say anything else he pulls his hands off of her, pushes on her hips and she falls back with a bounce onto his mattress. He tucks his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans and tugs them swiftly down her legs, pulling them off and dropping them onto the floor next to him. She watches as he kicks his own pants from around his ankles and strips his shirt as well, before dropping to his own knees before her and running his hands up her smooth legs. 

“Take off your shirt.” 

It’s no longer the sweet tone he’d given her earlier. It’s commanding, makes her contemplate whether she wants to  _ actually  _ listen to him, just to see what he’d do. He looks up at her though like he’s in her mind, knows exactly what she’s thinking, and when he sits up, wraps his firm, wide hands around her waist and lifts her with ease, scooting her back on the bed just enough that he can sink a knee down on the mattress between her legs, she feels her breath escape her. 

“I said,” he continues, leaning over to take a kiss from her lips, pulling away before she even has time to react, “take off your shirt Madam Mayor.” 

_ Oh.  _

Regina sits up just enough to wrap her fingers around the edge of her sweater, tugging it off and tossing it over his shoulder. She watches his eyes go dark as he takes in her body for the first time and it rocks her— no one’s ever looked at her with this much pure want, this much  _ lust _ in their eyes… ever. She and Daniel were so young, so innocent that they never made it past hidden kisses and secret touching. And Leopold— well, he just looked at her with disgust. But now, with Robin, she’s fallen speechless, motionless at how to react, at what to do next. It’s different and  _ exciting, _ and… 

“Gods you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out, sitting back to kneel on the bed above her, his hands framing her waist, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. Her bra’s twisted from when he’d felt her up earlier and he leans in, drops a kiss to her stomach, her sternum, and then one last one right over her heart.

He wraps his hands around her back and unclips her bra, peeling it slowly off of her. His eyes don’t leave hers though as he tosses the garment over the edge of the bed, leans in and kisses her. She pushes up, delves her fingers into his hair and sucks on his bottom lip, moans when he slips a hand over her sternum and palms her breast. He pulls back, sits up and kisses her chest then laves his tongue over her pert nipple as he rubs tights circles over the other. 

Her breath hitches and she tries to reach up and hold his head to her chest but he pulls away just as he begins, kneeling up between her legs. “Oh no, Madam Mayor,” he chides. He wraps his hands around her wrists and lifts her arms above her head, guiding her arms until they’re resting against the pillows. His thumbs make tight circles against the pressure points in her wrists and she stays silent, watches him carefully. Robin’s hands capture her own and he guides them, presses her palms to the posts of his rich mahogany headboard, his fingers wrapping around hers until she’s holding on tight. 

“Don’t move.” 

His lips are back on her chest immediately and she arches her back, presses up against his hand and his mouth, craving every touch, every swipe of his tongue against her sensitive skin. He pulls away though right as she lets out a moan, a devilish smirk on his lips. The bastard. 

“You like that, Madam Mayor?” he asks, his voice thick, his eyes tracing over her body. “Do you want my mouth on you?” 

“Yesss,” she draws out, tightening her grip against the headboard. 

He doesn’t budge though, looks up at her with that blasted smirk again and sits up, kissing her slowly, nipping at her bottom lip before soothing over it with his tongue. “Not giving in that easily,” he teases, kissing her again. She leans up and pulls as many deep, passionate kisses from him as she can before he sits back up and she actually  _ whines.  _

He’s playing a game, just as she had earlier and  _ shit,  _ she hadn’t expected it from him yet but gods, she is enjoying herself. She thought she would go home, get herself off in the confines of her own bed and talk with him again in the morning. She didn’t expect to be mostly-naked in his bed and oh,  _ oh,  _ especially hadn’t expected his hand to be drawing her panties down her legs. 

Robin runs his hands over her calves and up, presses his palms to the insides of her thighs, and gently pushes her legs open. He wraps his hands around the backs of her knees and caresses her smooth skin like he’s taking her in, mapping out every inch of her. 

Her breath catches and she starts pacing her breaths out, trying to calm her pulse as he leans in and drops a kiss to the crux of her thigh, swiping his fingers over her heat. 

“You’re so wet for me darling. How long have you been like this?” 

“Since I had you in my mouth,” she fires back, not missing a beat. 

He has her feeling so exposed right now, her legs spread wide, his fingers toying with her sensitive skin. He slides his tongue against her heat and she whimpers when he moans against her, immediately pulling away yet again. She circles her hips, chasing the feeling of his tongue but he holds her down, presses his hands to her hips and sits up. “Regina.” 

She hears him. Consciously she knows he’s calling her name, feels his hands on her thighs, and it takes her longer than she’ll ever admit to tilt her head down and look at him. The smug bastard has that gorgeous smirk against his lips again and she wants to kiss it off of him, wants to shove him down onto the ground and ride him until that stupid, sexy smile is off of his face. 

“You aren’t to move your hands,” he tells her, sitting up on his knees between her legs. “You let go of the headboard, I stop.” His hands are against her thighs, his fingertips gripping her skin, keeping her legs spread apart. “Do you understand Madam Mayor?” 

Regina eyes him over, stares for too long at the muscles on his chest—  _ fuck,  _ being an EMT looks so good on the thief. She must be far too distracted by him because he swats at the inside of her thigh and she snaps her gaze up at his eyes, his stupid smirk spreading. 

“I said,” he continues, his accent thick, his voice gravelly, “do you understand the rules, Madam Mayor?” He trails his hand up her thigh and runs two fingers over her, circling her clit a few times, dipping one finger down to tease her entrance. 

“Yes,” she chokes out, her mouth dry. He plants his arms next to her head and leans over her, dropping his head down to kiss her. His lips are so soft, a contrast to the scrape of his stubble against her chin, his kiss pulling against her own. She tightens her grip on the headboard and stretches her neck, nips at his bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth. He pulls back and she can feel her frustration rising, just wants  _ something  _ from him for more than one damn second, and the bastard knows it. “Make sure you keep quiet, Madam Mayor,” he whispers against her lips, kissing her jaw. “Can’t be too loud.” 

And then he disappears between her legs. 

He goes straight for her clit, swipes his tongue over it and sucks the bundle of nerves between his teeth and she almost loses the challenge right then and there. 

His hands are holding her thighs apart, his wide grip rough against her smooth skin. He releases her clit and slips his tongue down, swipes it over the wetness between her thighs, her lips, every inch of her. Her eyes flutter closed and she tightens her grip on the headboard, chases his mouth with her hips when he pulls away, the mattress dipping beneath her leg as he lifts it and drapes it over his shoulders. 

Robin’s back then and she can’t stop the moan that escapes her when he spreads her with his fingers and she swears she hears the word “gorgeous” fall from his lips as he leans back in. It’s so good—  _ too  _ fucking good. He runs the tip of his tongue down, down until he pushes it inside of her, making these obscene sounds as he practically eats at her. His hand comes up and he presses his thumb to her clit, rubbing her quickly, and her back comes up, arching off of the bed.

“God, Robin, fuck,  _ more _ ,” she gasps, her hips writhing. He pulls back then and oh, she’s going to kill him. Her eyes fly open and she lifts her head, her chest rapidly rising and falling as she starts to calm down. He’s still got a thumb on her clit, is still pressing slow, teasing circles against her. 

“Just making sure you’ve still got a tight grip there. Can’t let you slip up, now can we, Madam Mayor?” 

Regina shakes her head, stutters out a, “no,” as she feels her heart rate calming. She wasn’t close to coming but shit it’d felt so good and she needs more, needs his mouth and his fingers back on her. Needs  _ something _ before she practically combusts from how turned on she is. 

“Good girl,” he praises, dropping his head back down. He pulls his fingers from her clit and throws his left arm over her stomach to hold her down, putting his mouth back on her. He’s everywhere all at once, flicking the tip of his tongue against her sensitive clit, dipping his tongue inside of her, sucking on her like his life depends on it. She lets out an onslaught of expletives, her hips straining against his forearm, her knuckles white from her grip on the headboard. He’s relentless, seems happy to deliver the  _ more  _ she’d asked for earlier and then some. 

“F— fingers,” she chokes out on a moan, losing her train of thought as he sucks her swollen bud between his lips once more. “Want your—” Gods, the thought of his thick digits stretching her along with his mouth on her has another wave of wetness rushing through her, her orgasm building with each swipe of his tongue. He keeps her pinned but her leg slips from his shoulder and she feels his fingers then as he complies, teases one, then two and her entrance. 

“What do you need, Madam Mayor?” he growls against her, his voice vibrating against her skin. “Do you want me to stretch you? Want my fingers inside of you, pressing against you so come harder than you did last night?” 

She’s a queen. She won’t beg. Cannot beg this thief to fuck her with his fingers. No, she’ll tell him,  _ command _ him, she’ll— 

“Well if you’re not sure,” he says in response to her silence, slicing right through her thoughts, “I’ll just go back to what I was doing.” She can feel him shrug, feels his tongue barely against her, back to teasing her and she breaks, “Nooo,  _ more _ , please, fuck Robin I need your fingers.” 

He grins against her, the bastard, and kisses the crux of her thigh, pushing her legs apart. He leans back down, his broad shoulders keeping her legs spread, the press of his fingers against her opening making her hips lift from the mattress. He pushes one digit in up to the second knuckle and curls his finger up, pressing the pad of his fingertip against her and she gasps out an “ah,” circling her hips against his hand. She wants more, wants everything, and he’s got to have his own sense of magic because he gives her just that. 

It’s so good, his mouth against her clit, his finger stretching her. He quickly adds in a second and pushes them into her at a gradually building pace, curling them up to press tight circles against her. Regina can’t stop the loud moan that escapes her, the jut of her hips up as he chases her with his mouth, working her over exactly how she needs. Her grip tightens on the headboard and she cries out his name, following by a string of, “Fuck, that’s it, right there, don’t stop, gods, never stop.” 

Her heart is pounding, her orgasm building with each thrust of his fingers, each swipe of his tongue. She wants to let go, wants to thread her fingers into his hair and hold him to her until she knows nothing but him but she refuses, won’t give in to her instincts. She wants to come, needs to come, and she’s so close that she can feel her chest burning with it. 

“Oh god, fuck, that’s— right,  _ ah!”  _ she shrieks as he thrusts his fingers quickly now and she plants her feet, her toes curling into the sheets, her hips flying off the bed. She’s so close, right on the edge, clenching around his fingers and she turns her head, pressing her face into her arm to try and muffle the moans as she gets louder. His left arm comes back over her hips and slams them back down to the bed, and she cries out as he flicks his tongue against her clit and then she’s coming.

The release surges through her, her body writhing beneath his arm, her grip on the headboard never faltering as he fingers her through her first orgasm. His fingers are relentless, pounding into her over and over and  _ over  _ and she practically sobs into her arm at how good he’s making her feel. 

“That’s it darling, you look so beautiful coming for me, so good, let yourself go” he praises her. He’s still got his hand between her legs, the pace of his thrusts steady, holding her right there once again. Her eyes are closed, her teeth sunk into the skin at her bicep as she comes down. All of her energy is spent and she can’t look at him, her emotions too high, but then she hears him calling her name. 

Her eyes blink open and she tries to steady her breath, though she’s failing miserably and she lets out another long, drawn out moan when he puts his thumb against her and continues to work his fingers in her. 

She finally lays her eyes on him and he looks incredible. He’s so attractive, his hair ruffled, his skin practically glowing. He looks like a fucking god, with his perfect smile and the strain of the muscles in his arm, and he looks determined to make her come again. 

She can though, wants to, gasps out a quiet “so close—”, her voice wavering on the edge of another moan. He lowers his head back down and her own falls back against the pillow. 

It’s too much. Her heart is pounding, chest heaving with each labored breath as he presses his fingers inside, licks and sucks at her. Her nipples are aching to be touched and gods, she wants to let go, wants desperately to use her own hands somewhere on her body. She won’t though, he’s in control and  _ fuck _ she loves this power that he’s already got over her. She can feel another orgasm building up faster than the first, and when he starts praising her, she almost snaps. 

“That’s it darling, that’s what you needed right? You’re so close, I can feel you clenching around my fingers, you’re almost there. Let me take care of you.” He reaches his arm up and cups her breast, twisting the hardened peak of her nipple at the same rate that he sucks on her and she cries out, her legs trembling as he thrusts his fingers harder and  _ faster,  _ bringing her right over. 

“Fuck! Right there, oh, don’t stop, Rob— I,  _ ohhhhh,”  _ she groans, her fingers clawing at his headboard, scrambling to keep her grip as her orgasm rushes through her, wetness seeping from between her thighs. She writhes against his hand, her hips meeting his fingers, chasing every ounce of her orgasm as he draws it out of her. It’s so good, her body finally collapsing down against the bed, her chest rapidly falling as she tries to catch her breath. She can feel the slick slide of her skin against his sheets, the sweat at her brow, every sense heightened as he carefully slips his fingers from her and wipes them on his boxers. Her grip lightens on the headboard but she keeps her arms above her head, waiting. 

He brings her down slowly, tongue sweeping over her sensitive skin to taste her. It’s so sweet that she could cry— no one’s ever treated her like this. In all her years no one has cared about her in even an  _ ounce _ that Robin’s shown in just their month together. He trails kisses up her body so slowly, his lips mapping the planes of her stomach, her curves. He kisses the scar on her ribs from where she fell off of her horse as a child, brushes his thumbs so lightly against the underside of her breasts, presses a kiss right over her blackened heart. 

“Your shoulders are going to sting,” he whispers against her jaw, his hands following up her sides. “Let me work them out for you carefully, okay? Don’t just try and put them down.” 

She shudders out a quiet, “Okay,” and he smiles, brushing the hair matted to her forehead aside. He leans down and kisses her and it’s so different from the passionate, rushed kisses they traded earlier. It’s slow and when he pulls away he carefully unwraps her hand from the headboard and rolls her shoulder out for her, lowering her arm. He does the same to the other, and then he nudges her just a bit, his hands rolling her over onto her stomach.

She feels his calloused fingers against her shoulders, working over the skin, his thumbs digging into the taut muscles until she delfates against the bed and lets out a little moan. She’s so tired, her eyes fluttering closed as he works out the kinks down her back. 

“You know,” she mumbles sleepily as he stops, stretching himself out on the bed next to her. “I could get used to this.” 

“Good,” he smiles, brushing her hair back from her forehead, dropping a kiss to her temple. “I could get used to this too.” 

.::.

Regina wakes herself up about twenty minutes later just enough to pad into his bathroom and get a good look at herself. 

And gods, she looks exhausted. 

Her hair is a mess and though she tries to tame it there’s little to no use. It’s curly and unruly, just as it was for years when she was a teenager and it makes her laugh. This bright, loud laugh that she hasn’t heard from herself in years just rolls out of her over and over. It feels so good,  _ she  _ feels so good, her heart swelling at the thought of the man out there in his bed waiting for her.

She hasn’t felt this much like a young, unbothered Regina in so long, and she missed it. 

She finds one of his shirts hanging on the hook next to his towels and she pulls it on, pads back out into his bedroom. 

He changed his boxers and cleaned up while she was in there, folded her clothes and set them neatly on the dresser. He turns when she comes out and the smile he flashes her makes her heart beat faster, has her fiddling with the edge of his shirt like some damn schoolgirl hiding from her crush— not like a Queen who just got off with the ridiculously hot man standing before her. 

“You look good in my shirt,” he tells her, reaching out to take her hand and tug her toward him. She comes willingly, presses herself to his bare chest and he brings his free hand up, brushes her hair behind her ear. “I like your hair like this too. Makes you look wild.” 

“More like feral,” she quips back, but she still can’t stop smiling up at him. 

He draws her back towards the bed and she catches a glimpse of the clock. It’s just after 11:30 and he must know what she’s thinking because he turns her head to look at him, presses his forehead to her own. 

“Stay the night. Please darling, just stay. Henry’s already asleep, and while you were in the bathroom I got Roland’s old baby monitor set up so you’ll hear him if he cries. Just… don’t go, not quite yet.” 

She cups his cheek and nods, presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

They fall into bed together like they’ve been doing it for years. He flicks the light off and tucks them both in beneath his royal blue comforter, curling his body against her own. They don’t say anything and in moments she can feel his breath even, his hand not quite as tight against her hip. His chest, though, is tight against her back, his warm body encompassing hers, and soon after him she falls soundly asleep for the first time in a month, to the steady beat of his heart and the rhythm of his breath against her hair. 


	10. Chapter 10

He’s always loved Roland’s birthday parties. The joy the day brings his son, the unbridled happiness that radiates through the room as he gets to open his presents and celebrate with his mates from school. His birthdays have always been something special, and while the days come and go, lost in a blur of memories, this one’s something he’s sure he’ll always remember. 

He had spent the entire last week preparing for the get together, with Regina’s help. She kept Roland occupied for him, took him out on play dates and had him sleep over at her house on Thursday so that Robin could work and get the party together without a soon-to-be five year old rushing in and out of his legs. Roland was positively ecstatic for his time with Regina though, went on and on about how he got time with her and Henry  _ ‘all to himself’  _ for hours when he’d returned home on Friday. 

There’s less pressure than he remembers from the years before, their time they’ve spent without Marian always weighing heavy on his heart as Roland’s birthday nears. 

Marian had come into his life like a whirlwind, turned it all around and made him grow up, made him want to be better— to give her the life that they deserved. She had been his first love, the one who taught him to open his mind, made him act like a man. He thought he was a man when he’d met her, had been sure that living on his own for years and making himself grow up earlier than he should have had to make him a bigger person. But it was Marian who had led him right. And as his greatest gift she gave him Roland. And then she died. 

She had passed just after Roland’s second birthday so as the time faded, and his boy’s next birthday had come, the weight on his own heart made the day almost unbearable. Her passing had sliced his spirits but he hadn’t let it deter him from being Roland’s father, from moving them to Storybrooke for a new life, a new beginning. It felt like ages since they got to this little town, since they’ve created a new community. 

Their lives are truly different now, but not just because of Storybrooke. 

It’s because of  _ her.  _

Regina’s the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time. After he lost Marian, he hadn’t thought he would be able to care for another woman like he had his wife— she was the woman who  _ taught  _ him how to love. But in meeting Regina, he found hope. Roland may have thrown himself into her life in one quick moment but gods, is he grateful for his son’s bluntness.

He can’t stop himself from falling so hard for her, so quickly. She’s feisty and sometimes a little frightening, especially when she decides to take charge over any situation, but watching her is thrilling. Each step she takes, every carefully thought out word that slips from her red lips, every kiss she presses to her son’s forehead is so meaningful, so driven, that it makes his heart swell. She cares so deeply, has taken his son in as her own to the point where Roland gravitates toward her some nights, calls her when he has a good day at school just to tell her everything that’s happening, tucks his own little hand into hers and asks her to read him a bedtime story every chance he gets. They’re becoming a family, and it thrills him to no end.

She spent most of the party out mingling with the other mums, hosting the party right alongside him. Roland had taken the time to introduce Miss Mayor to all of his friends, telling them all that she was his Papa’s girlfriend, and though he’d started to correct Roland at first she held him back, tangling her fingers with his and gave his hand a squeeze. “Let him,” she’d whispered into his ear.

The party wrapped up a little after four and Roland had taken the time to bid all of his friends goodbye, politely thanking them for all of his new Lego presents (it was all he’d asked for, and his friends delivered in droves) before quickly dropping into a nap on the couch from all the excitement. 

He’d been cleaning up the kitchen, busy baking off the extra cupcake batter, so that he didn’t hear her slip up behind him until her voice was against his ear. 

“You throw a hell of a party,” she chuckles, dropping a kiss to his shoulder, her fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Need any help in here?” 

“I might— there’s a couple more cupcakes in the oven. Roland’s a fan and I only had a bit of batter left. Did you have fun?” 

“I did. Roland was adorable,” she tells him, and he can feel her practically deflate against his back, her nose bumping against his shoulder. “He’s got a mountain of Legos out there. He’ll be occupied for months.” 

“And thrilled,” Robin laughs. “He’s five now, as he loves to tell anyone who’ll listen. He’s convinced himself that means he can build the little tough Lego towers on his own… He’s getting so  _ big,  _ and he thinks he’s practically grown.”

She turns from him, goes around to the other side of the counter and takes a seat at the stool. “He’s still your little boy at heart, always will be,” she sighs. She looks tired, a little lost, and he wants to reach out, but as he opens his mouth to speak, the alarm on the oven chimes. 

The thought she had must fade just as quickly as it came, because by the time he turns she’s dug into one of the already-made cupcakes, absentmindedly swiping her finger through the yellow icing and tasting it with her tongue. Regina doesn’t see him for a moment but she freezes when she does, her eyes darting over to him, an embarrassed smile quickly spreading on her face. She blushes a deep red, ducks her head but takes another swipe of icing from the desert. “What?” she smiles, licking remnants of icing from her lip. 

“Nothing,” he grins, dropping the pan onto the stove. He turns and kisses her, tastes the sugar on her lips. She opens up, leans up against him and pulls a few kisses from his lips before pulling back, brushing her fingers along the line of his jaw. 

“Henry’s tuckered out so I took him up to Roland’s room and let him nap in the pack and play. I hope you don’t mind?” she asks, turning her attention back to her cupcake, carefully breaking it into pieces. 

“Of course not,” he grins at her. “You’ve full reign of the house as you need darling, anytime.” They fall into a comfortable silence as he cleans up the kitchen, puts all the leftovers from the party away. He reaches across the counter at one point and snags a quarter of her desert from her, tossing it into his mouth. “You know,” he blurts out, his mind running. “It feels like time is just flying by.” 

She’s quiet at first and he’s afraid he’s started something, but her voice carries through the kitchen moments later. “It is, in some ways,” she tells him. “I see it with Henry even now. Each day he’s like a new person, growing and learning with every passing second.” 

Robin nods, turns back to her and drops his elbows to the counter, leaning across from her. “I wish I could make time stand still, even just for a moment, you know? Like today, when he was so excited opening up his presents, and then saying thank you to all his friends. All of these little things he does— he’s so small and innocent. What I wouldn’t give to just let him be perpetually four for a little longer, let him live in his own safe, happy bubble of a world and enjoy it without any heartache.” He can feel his own cheeks heating, the ramble spilling out before he’s got the power to stop it. The flush overtakes his body and he rolls his sleeves up past his elbows, stretches his arms out and presses his hands to the edge of the cool granite, rolling his shoulders. 

When he looks up though, meets her gaze, she looks like she’s shattered, like she did that night when she’d shown up at the firehouse a month ago. 

“You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Regina blinks a few times, her eyes flashing down to his arms and back up, nods and swallows the bit of cupcake she had in her mouth, her tongue darting out to swipe up the icing against her lip. “Just thinking,” she mumbles, wiping her fingers on the napkin in front of her, sweeping her fingers through her hair. “It’s getting late, I should head out.” 

“Please—” he starts, but hesitates, watching her body language change with each passing movement. She’s holding herself back from something, and while he itches to reach out, press a kiss to her brow and wait until she’s ready to talk, he knows that’s not who she is, what she wants.

“Henry’s napping too close to his bedtime, and I know he’ll be a nightmare when he wakes up. I’ve been here all week too, you should spend time with Roland for his birthday. I know he’s beyond excited to show his Papa all his new Legos.”

“If you’re sure,” he tells her, opening his arms up for her as she comes around the counter. She’s putting on a facade, the worry lines tamped down from her face as she tilts up and kisses his collarbone, his jaw, and finally settles a kiss on his lips. Her lips are so soft beneath his, so gentle, her hand cupping his cheek and toying with the stubble of his beard. He wants to take things a little further, but before he’s got the chance she’s breaking their kiss, smiling that soft, gorgeous smile up at him. His hands have fallen to her hips and he squeezes, leans in and steals one more kiss from her. “Thank you for being here today for Roland.”

“Just Roland?” she asks, her eyebrow darting up, a smirk spreading across her lips. 

He grins, leans down and kisses the corner of her smirk. “Maybe me too. You saved me from all those Moms out there.” 

“Well,” she draws out, her fingers coming around to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, her thumb tracing over his jawline. “As Roland told them earlier, I’m your girlfriend. I have to make sure they know very well who’s keeping your bed warm at night.” 

He can’t help but smile at that, tugging her a little closer so her body’s flush against his own, and he leans down to steal a longer, slower kiss from her. They’ve been so busy all day that he’s not had a moment alone with her, and while he knows she’s fixing to go, he can’t see that happening without at least getting one good snog in with her before she leaves. 

She lets him too, thank god. Her body pushes up into his own and he uses the leverage to slip a hand down over the swell of her bum, teeth tugging at her bottom lip, soothing over it with his tongue. She groans, just a light, fleeting thing, swipes her tongue over his own and pulls kiss after kiss from him. They stay there for a moment, just soaking one another in, before the kiss slows and she finally pulls away, her breath hot against his jaw as she catches her breath. 

“I’m not sure what your holiday plans are, but I was thinking…. Do you boys want to come over for a little ‘Christmas Eve Eve’ celebration on Thursday? I’ll make dinner.” 

Robin smiles, cups her cheek and kisses her blushed skin. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

Regina slips away from him after that, goes upstairs to pack Henry’s things up and strap the sleeping 6 month old to her chest. She stops by the couch and presses a gentle kiss to Roland’s forehead, wishes the sleepy lad a Happy Birthday, to which he tugs her into a tight hug and Robin swears he hears his son whisper a tired ‘Love you Regina’ into her shoulder. 

“Breakfast tomorrow at the diner?” he asks her, catching her at the doorway before she can head back home.

God, the smile she flashes him makes him practically melt and he wishes he could just tug her back into the warmth of his home, ask her to stay the night… or forever. 

“Tomorrow,” she confirms, squeezing his hand before heading out into the snow.

.::.

Regina waits until she’s in her car and around the corner before she pulls her phone from her pocket, dials one of the two numbers she has saved to her speed dial, letting the phone ring. 

“Come on, pick up,” she grumbles into the air, before the voicemail tone comes through. 

She waits a moment before dialing again, her patience growing thin before the voice on the other line finally answers. 

“Gods girl, you have heard of a Saturday dinner rush, right? What’s gotten into you?”

“I need you to meet me in the cemetery,” Regina cuts in. “At the mausoleum.”

Granny scoffs into the phone, starts taking an order, and Regina can hear shuffling before the woman’s voice finally comes back through the line. “You’re kidding, right?” 

“No,” she spits out, her cheeks burning, her fingers clenching against the steering wheel. “Look, I just… Come on Eugenia, don’t make me spell it out here.” 

“You need help,” the older woman cuts in. “Hold on, I—” she stops, barking out something to Ruby. Regina can’t catch the whole thing, but she hears her ask her granddaughter to lock the place up later, and the background noise fades. “Why the mausoleum?” 

Regina rolls her eyes. Can’t Granny just follow a simple direction for once, without having to pry her nose into every little detail? “I can’t explain it, not over the phone. Look, just, I have to swing by the house to grab Henry’s dinner, and then we’ll be there around 7. Can you meet me or not?” 

Granny lets out a low grumble of  _ ‘damn, different world and you’re still a stubborn ass’ _ that echoes through the receiver. “Fine, 7. I’ll see you there,” she says, and the line goes dead. 

.::.

“You better have a damn good reason to drag me out of my restaurant right before a holiday. We’ve been rushing around all week and while I know that Ruby’s got her head on straight most days, I can’t leave her there alone like that.” 

Regina looks up at the older woman as she walks into the room, her hand wrapped tightly around the edge of her book, a fingertip held between two of the worn pages to hold her place. “Well, I’m sorry that my curse falling into shambles is less important than your damn dinner rush,” she snaps back, her fingertips digging into paper. She takes a deep breath, pointedly avoiding Granny’s gaze. The way the woman’s looking at her is making her skin crawl and although she asked her here, she’d give anything to make her go away at this very moment. 

She can’t though. She needs this, needs someone to reassure her that this is the right thing. 

“Today was Roland’s fifth birthday.” 

Granny eyes her carefully, sits down on one of the chaise lounges that she’s got set up in the vault. “Okay,” she draws out. “And you’re gripping that book like it’ll kill someone because…?” 

Regina rolls her eyes, flips the book open and taps rapidly on one of the pages. “Tomorrow, he’ll be four again.” 

The wolf says nothing to that, and Regina flips the page, scanning rapidly over the Elvish staring back at her. “Every December 18th that rolls around, he’ll celebrate with some party that Robin comes up with, and he’ll fall asleep, dreaming of cupcakes and presents and all the beautiful, wonderful things he’d done that day. And then when he wakes, he’ll be four all over again.” 

Granny breathes out a quiet  _ oh,  _ her hands folding in her lap. “I see.” 

Regina grips the edges of the book, wanting nothing more than to rip the blasted thing to shreds, to incinerate it with a fireball and watch as the pages singe into ash. “It’s never bothered me before. Had this been twenty years ago— hell, even five years ago, I wouldn’t have given a  _ damn _ about anyone’s birthday.” 

“You’re not as heartless as you like to let yourself think you are Regina,” Granny cuts in. “At this point, you’ve got to see that about yourself.” 

“I don’t know,” she bites back. “Things are different now. I feel…” 

Granny lets out a cackle, stands up from the chaise and strides across the room, snatching the book from Regina’s hands. “Oh gods girl, I know what this is. You’re finally feeling guilty.” 

She reaches back for her book but Granny’s backing away from her in seconds, and Regina can feel the anger breaking through. No one’s ever dared to call her out in such a flippant way, wouldn’t dream of speaking to the Queen the way that this petulant  _ wolf _ does time and time again. But, before she has a chance to snap back, Granny continues. 

“That’s what this is. You’ve always been spoiled Regina, ever since you became Queen. You’ve spent the past forty years of your life pulling from everyone, getting what you want, at any means necessary. And now you actually care about someone. That feeling you’ve got there, that anger, that rage that’s making you want to tear this book apart, that’s called guilt my dear. You’re finally feeling like a human for once. I don’t know whatever awful things you had to do to get us here to Storybrooke, but I know the Dark One. It couldn’t have been simple. You’d pushed all of that down when you got to Storybrooke, hadn’t you? You’ve finally found a reason to own up to all of the villainous things you’ve done throughout the years, and your heart doesn’t know what to do with it.” 

Regina’s up in a flash, smacks her hands against the old, worn table and digs her nails into the rough wood beneath her hands. “And what should I do with it? What possible way would there be to make any of this right? Twenty years of this, and now,  _ now  _ I’m starting to feel what? Love? Affection?” 

Granny laughs, practically howls, and Regina can’t stop the anguish bursting through her, the scream she wants to let out, her fingers digging into her hair. Her heart is pounding, mind racing with each action she’s been through in the last few months and trying to figure out where she went wrong— how she possibly changed this much in such little time. 

“You literally don’t know what to do with yourself,” Granny continues to laugh. “Gods, I never thought I’d see the day when little Regina Mills finally turned human once more. What’s it like, your heart beating in your chest? Hurts, doesn’t it?” 

Regina snaps her head up and eyes Granny, wants to rip the woman's heart from her chest and ask her the same thing. She’s no better, has done equally wicked things in the name of vengeance, but Granny steps toward her and tosses the book back down at her hands. 

“Why’re you doing this to me?” Regina growls out, gripping the book and dragging it back toward her chest. “Why’re you goading me like this?” 

Granny steps back, crosses her arms over her chest and raises an eyebrow at her. “It’s been twenty years. Twenty  _ years _ of living in a constant time loop. You’re incredibly smart Regina, but gods, sometimes you’re daft. You know what needs to be done here.” 

Regina collapses back into the chair and cards her fingers through her hair, flipping the spell book back open with her free hand. She’s read the page time and time again, could recite the words of her curse over and over until her lips bled, but she’s not been able to come up with a way to reverse it. There was always talk of the savior, the person who would be her downfall in time, would rip her curse to shreds and take her down along with it, but it’s been twenty years, and whoever the person may be, they’re not here yet. “It wasn’t meant to last forever. I wanted it to, desperately needed it to work for as long as I could but… that’s not the only thing.” 

Regina stands, makes her way over to one of the many bookcases and filters through until she finds one of her journals. 

She hadn’t told anyone this story, and doesn't like to admit one of her biggest mistakes to even herself. But she’s here now, face to face with her own regret, and when she flips to the page she knows far too well, she’s taken back to nights spent looking at, tracing over the worn pencil sketch, when she wanted nothing more than to go back in time, to have listened to that blasted fairy when she had the chance. 

She steps around the table, holds the book open and watches as the recognition flashes across Granny’s face, and the older woman looks up at her. “Why’ve you got a picture of Locksley’s tattoo in your book there?” 

Regina draws her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the plump skin until she finally mumbles, “he’s my soulmate.” 

Granny sits, speechless, holding the book in her hands, and it makes her anxiety flare. She wants, no, _needs_ for her to say something, anything, give her some recognition that the world hasn’t collapsed around them, that her voice hasn’t suddenly disappeared from her body and that she actually heard her. 

“I hadn’t realized it at first. When we started talking there was this morning that he’d been at the house and he was helping me with Henry… I saw the tattoo, but it was only a faded outline, like a memory. But it’s grown darker, stronger each day. And then today— god, today he rolled his sleeves up like it was nothing, and the memory of that night just came flying back. I was right outside of that tavern again, looking at this man with a lion tattoo drinking an ale. A scared, lost 22 year old with a future that was much brighter than the one she’d been living, staring at a man who was destined to give me… everything.” 

She takes the book back from Granny and traces her fingers over the drawing, shuts the journal and clutches it to her chest. 

“I was so afraid back then to let myself be loved. I’d spent years tortured, put through hell by my mother, by Leopold, even by myself, and then all of a sudden there’s this person twenty feet from me and I panicked. I felt like if I let go of that anger that’d been holding me down, building all around me and weighing on my heart, that I would just float away. I ran away, ran back to hell and turned myself into a monster. I’ve done terrible things. Things that I know I should regret— I’ve tortured and murdered and cast this curse that trapped everyone here, but it got me my son, and I’d do it all over again if I had to. But this? Now? I feel like that child all over again.” 

Granny stands and comes in front of Regina, brings her hands up and wraps her fingers around her biceps. “Look at me.” 

Her head comes up and she takes in a deep breath, waits as Granny starts talking. 

“This, Regina, this is that happy ending you always hoped for. Whether you’ve gotten your revenge against Snow or not, maybe this is your time to do better. To  _ be  _ better. This is your second chance, thrown right in your face. Don’t blow it now because you’re afraid to be happy.” 

.::.

_ God, she loves the sight of Snow collapsed over Charmings lifeless body.  _

_ “Oh, don’t worry dear. In a few moments, you won’t remember you knew him, let alone loved him.”  _

_ It feels so good, the chill whipping from the balcony through the nursery, the dark clouds looming overhead. Everything she’s wanted is here in front of her— her curse, Snow’s demise, stupid Charming’s blood seeping from his chest. Her curse is working, her happy ending finally coming true. She’ll deal with the child when it comes to it, their precious daughter who’ll supposedly rip her curse apart.  _

_ But now. Now, all she feels is freedom.  _

_ “Where are we going?”  _

_ The winds are speeding up now, blasting through stained glass windows, flecks of blues and greens swirling around them as the storm brews harder overhead. She’s laughing, the feeling of accomplishment surging its way through her. Everything around them is being demolished and she can’t help herself from watching Snow’s face— watching as her step daughter’s happiness is whisked away, just as her own was that fateful night 19 years ago, when Snow betrayed her, and Daniel's heart was ripped treacherously from his body.  _

_ “Somewhere horrible.” _

_ The screams echo around her, the burst of demonic winds churning with each passing second, encompassing them all. It’s happening, it’s all, finally happening, and  _ **_god_ ** _ does she love this power coursing through her.  _

_ Her maniacal laugh sweeps her up. The wind rips through the glass with a shatter, shards flying around their faces. Snow ducks, still protectively hovering over her husband's limp body, weak, helpless. The wraps of Regina’s dress fly up, her laughter still ringing in her ears.  _

_ “A place where the only happy ending will be mine.” _

_ And then it stops. The whole room freezes around her, her hair standing on it’s ends, her hands frozen in their spot before her. Snow’s tears have paused their stream down her face, her hand stuck against Charming’s cheek, his body unmoving against the floor.  _

_ The door opens across the room, and instead of her guards standing before her, watching their lives get sucked up into the vortex, it’s Robin and Roland. _

_ They’re dressed for the Enchanted Forest, Robin donning his hunting gear, a bow secure in his hand, quiver slung over his shoulder. Roland looks positively adorable in his cloak and tunic, his slightly too big trousers dragging against the hardwood, the ends tucked haphazardly into his boots, his hand secure within his Papa’s and his eyes widen at the sight of her. She can feel the hair swept up off of her neck, black fabric clinging to her every curve, the thick, red lipstick painted across her lips.  _

_ “Look Papa, it’s the Queen.”  _

_ He never was quite good at whispering.  _

_ They’re in front of her now and she feels like she can’t breathe, the curse suspended around her. By now, they should’ve been taken from this world, lost in a universe unlike any they’ve ever experienced. By now, her curse should be complete, her happiness should be the only thing on her mind. _

_ But instead she’s here, staring at two people who have no business conversing with the Evil Queen.  _

_ “Miss Queen,” Roland starts, distancing himself from Robin to come right to her feet. Robin’s still said nothing but he’s gazing at her, his lips turned up into that soft smile he seems to have reserved only for her. Roland draws her attention away though, back to him as his small hand wraps around her cloak and tugs. “We got matchin’ cloaks!”  _

_ There’s a lump in her throat and she can’t talk, can’t fathom forming words, when the little boy keeps speaking. “What’re ya doin’? There’s lots’a sharp stuff everywhere. Papa says that’s dangerous.”  _

_ She tries to say something, anything, but he circles around her feet, bouncing as he goes. “Is your curse gonna be scary Miss Queen? I don’t wanna lose my Papa. He’s all I got.”  _

_ That lump in her throat trembles and though she’s rendered speechless, she can feel the tears building, her heart clenching. She doesn’t recognize this feeling, this pain sweeping through her chest, this unfamiliar ache that she can’t quite grasp. She wants to kneel down, wants to wrap the boy into her arms and press kisses to his cheeks. Wants to promise him that in time, it’ll all be okay. That he’ll have his Papa, and a little family soon enough.  _

_ She wants to love him.  _

_ The wind slowly starts to pick back up though, the fear flashing across the little boy’s face.  _

_ “Miss Mayor, what’s happenin’?”  _

_ The wind picks up faster and faster, flashes of Storybrooke appearing in her mind, Roland curled up in her lap, Robin cupping her cheek, his lips against her own, Henry swaddled in his blanket, secure and so very loved in her arms. Screams start to echo in her ears, pulling her from her thoughts, back to the little boy in front of her. Snow and Charming are gone and it’s just Robina and Roland, her boys, and a thin, blue blanket whipping around her body, bringing her to her knees.  _

_ Robin’s running after him now and she just wants to  _ **_move,_ ** _ wants to stop this, to save her family and stop this curse, let herself love them, let herself feel her heart beating in her chest once more. Robin grabs Roland before the wind can sweep him up and when he turns back to her, his demeanor has changed.  _

_ He’s angry, brows furrowed, his arms wrapped protectively around his son. “You must learn Roland, to never trust the Evil Queen. Her wicked heart doesn’t allow for love. Only hatred, only anger. And certainly, only death.”  _

_ No. _

_ She’s watching them now. She feels as her own body crumbles against the ground, her family being taken. The anger etched into Robin’s face, the fear pouring from Rolands, how… maniacal she looks compared when she catches a glimpse of her features in one of the shards of glass moving past.  _

_ “I’m not evil,” she chokes out finally, her bottom lip trembling, her heart aching in her chest. Her head is screaming, her heart beating harder than it has in years. She’d forgotten that it could beat, doesn't recognize this terrifying feeling in her stomach, the anxiety, the  _ **_need_ ** _ to convince him that she’s not the same. This isn’t the real her.  _

_ “Robin, please— I had good intentions, really, I just wanted to win. For once, I wanted to come out of this on top. I didn’t want this life, I just wanted to be free.”  _

_ The wind picks up, faster and faster, and she can’t move, can’t breathe, wants to take them into her arms and promise that the life before them will be alright, that they’ll find each other, that it’s for the best. _

_ “Don’t trust the Queen, Roland. Her heart is as black as coal. Wicked, in every sense of the word.” As the wind carries up faster they start to dissipate before her, their bodies being sucked up into it.  _

_ “No—”  _

“No!” 

She wakes with a sweat, sits straight up in the bed, her chest heaving, hair matted to her face. Her chest hurts, pain ripping through her and she brings her hands up, clenching at where her heart rests, trying to ease the ache that came with her nightmare. 

It’s not the first dream she’s had that was partially a memory— she too often wakes in the middle of the night with tears on her cheeks at the sight of her father’s lifeless body before her, the feeling on her hands as she’d shoved her mother through that mirror and into a land unknown, the image of Daniel collapsing to the floor, the dust trickling from between her mother's fingers into the hay beneath her feet. 

This is the first memory, though, that Robin and Roland have intertwined themselves into. The more they’ve weaved themselves into her life, into her heart, the more guilt begins to seep into her inner thoughts, the haunts that wake her up at night. 

The tattoo is a sign, an omen from her past resurfacing, coming to light with each new day. Her guilt is ripping her heart, racking her brain, and she knows now what needs to be done. 


	11. Chapter 11

_ May _

They should most definitely  _ not  _ be doing this. 

Her hands are palming the front of his pants, his tongue is swiping over the muscle in her neck, and she’s got to get them both back to their children but fuck,  _ fuck,  _ he’s pressing her back into the sharp edge of the countertop and palming her breast beneath the fabric of her dress, his other hand gripping the thick of her thigh.

“Turn around for me darling.” 

It’ll only be so long before Granny comes looking for them, busts down the bathroom door and scolds them for being reckless, but before she’s gets a chance to form her thoughts into words, Robin’s strong hands come down, grasp at her hips and he turns her himself, his erection pressing into the swell of her ass. 

Her palms press into the cold laminate, fingers curling around the edge as he slides the hem of her dress up, higher and higher until the cool air hits her and she feels goosebumps take over her skin. She lets out a hiss at the sharp edge pressing into her hips, his hands dipping between her legs, pushing the soaked fabric of her thong aside so he can tease at her entrance with his fingertips. 

“You have to be quiet,” he whispers into her ear and she shivers, tilts her ass back and slowly drags it over his erection. Her skin is flushed and she closes her eyes, drops her head down as she hears him unbuckle his belt, the rustle of fabric as he pushes his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself from the confine of his pants. 

Robin's palm connects with her back, slides up the curve of her spine until he reaches the plane between her shoulders and guides her down just enough, his knee wedging between her own to spread her apart. He’s moving so tantalizing slow, dragging the head of his cock between her swollen lips, and she needs him to fuck her, needs him to move faster, before someone comes looking for them. 

“Come  _ on  _ Robin,” she whines. She can hear the bastard snicker, wants to scold him for teasing her like this, but he tightens his grip on her hips and slams himself inside of her, and it takes all of her restraint not to cry out. 

Gone is the slow, teasing man before her. His thrusts are sharp, short quick bursts that have her clawing at the countertop, trying desperately to find purchase to keep herself upright. Her whole body is on fire, every feeling, every thought warped to just him— only him. 

“That’s it love, you like that don’t you?” He grunts out, pushing the edge of her dress up higher onto her lower back, his hand palming her ass and giving it a firm squeeze. She looks up into the mirror, watches him as he drives into her. He’s staring at where their bodies are connecting, hyper focused on them and her heart swells.  _ Oh, fuck, _ she loves him so much it hurts. 

He looks up and flashes her a grin, draws his palm up her back and grips onto her shoulder, tugging her back flush against his chest. Her breath quickens and she bites onto her bottom lip, rolls her head back against his shoulder and fails to stifle an, “oh, that, right there, ha— harder” as it spills from her lips. 

“Gods, you look so good right now. So bloody gorgeous wrapped around my cock like that. You’re close aren’t you? I can feel it.” 

She nods, reaches back and digs her nails into his sides, her ass pushing back to meet him thrust for thrust.  _ Oh god,  _ she is so close, can feel the heat spreading through her, her body trembling as he fucks her. His hand on her hip comes down, pushes the front hem of her dress up higher and he slips his hand down the front of her thong. Two fingers find purchase on her clit and he starts rubbing,  _ faster,  _ and  _ oh!  _ her body trembles against his hand, he hits that spot inside of her and she gasps, lets out a high-pitched whine, and Robin brings his free hand up and secures it over her mouth. Her knees give out as he thrusts into her, tight circles swirling against her clit, and she whines into his palm, her eyes closed, lost in each feeling of his hips pressing into her own, the strength of his body holding her own up. “Let go darling, I’ve got you,” he whispers into her ear and she groans into his palm, sinks her teeth into the plump skin as she feels the waves of her orgasm crash over her. Her whole body is thrumming, her back pressed tightly to his chest, hands gripping against his forearms as he pins her body against his own. Her grip tightens around him as he pushes into her three, four, five more times before buries his face into her hair and groans, finishing inside of her. 

Robin pulls his hand away and she collapses against the sink, her hands gripping hard right back against the countertop, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. She lets out a quiet whimper when he backs away, slips out of her and reaches back for a paper towel. 

Regina catches a glimpse of them both in the mirror and there’s no doubt how satisfied they both look right now. Robin glances up, meets her eyes and smiles at her, reaches for her hand and carefully spins her, leans in and connects his lips with her own. It’s slow, sweet, nothing of the rushed, frantic kisses they’d traded only moments ago. He cleans them both up, situates her dress back down against her thighs and steals another kiss from her.

“What time d’ya have to be at work?” He asks, his fingers toying with her hair, thumb brushing against the swell of her cheek. 

“About 10 minutes,” she whispers. “You sure you don’t mind keeping Henry today?” 

“Absolutely. The little lad and I have plenty of things planned for the day after we drop Roland at school.” 

He fiddles with the lock on the women's room door, cracks the door open slowly so the hinges don’t squeak and tugs her out. “You first. I’ll follow behind in a moment.” 

Regina steals one more kiss from him before she steps out, smooths down the wrinkles of her dress and straightens her back, stepping back out into the diner. 

Ruby’s sitting with Roland and Henry, listening to Roland tell her about his school play, his hands waving around animatedly as he explains the plot of Henny Penny watching the sky fall. It’s a cute end of the year play, and he’s overly excited about his role of the Fox and the plaid overalls and plush ears he gets to wear. 

She steps up to the edge of the booth, reaches down and scoops Henry right out of his high chair and into her arms. He’s tired this morning, a little grumpy and extra snuggly, so he buries his head into her shoulder and settles in almost immediately. 

“You two alright back there?” Ruby asks, eyebrows rising as she eyes Regina over. 

“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Regina tells her, but she can feel Granny’s intense glare from across the restaurant. She turns her head, see’s the older woman standing behind the counter with her hands deathly gripping the edge of a plate. 

Robin comes out just after her, thank god, slips into the spot where Ruby had just been next to Roland and tugs the boy into his lap, ruffling up the curly locks on his head. 

“M’ss M’or,” Roland mumbles, his mouth full of his last bite of pancake, “can you pick m’up from sc’ol?” 

“Chew first, then ask correctly,” Robin whispers to him, and she cannot stop the laugh that escapes her when Roland dramatically rolls his eyes and gulps his pancake down. 

“Can you? Please?” he asks, climbing down from Robin’s lap to come over and hug her leg. “I want you to get me.” 

She reaches her hand down and scratches her nails lightly against the back of his head, smiling as he wiggles his nose against her outer thigh and giggles to himself. “I’m sure we can make that happen.” 

They settle up with Granny, who hasn’t stopped glaring at both herself and Robin since they exited the bathroom, and she winces when the older woman actually growls at her as she signs their bill. Wolf senses are something she always forgets about, but she’s keenly aware that Granny  _ absolutely _ knows what they were doing in there, and Regina’s only a tad bit ashamed. 

“You have a house with four bedrooms, you know,” Granny murmurs to her, pouring Regina her to-go coffee. “Use that next time, would’ya?” 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Regina smirks, dropping an extra twenty down on top of their bill and shoving it back across the counter, turning back to her family.

She drops a kiss to Rolands head, Henry’s cheek, and finally Robin’s lips as they part ways in front of the diner. It takes her a moment before she turns up the sidewalk, watching her three favorite people walk away to start their day. Their lives are going to change soon— whether good or bad, she doesn’t know. The memory potion is almost finished, she just has to put the last few touches on it and then… 

Then, she just needs to muster up the courage to give it to him. 

Regina spends the day in the vault, works tirelessly for hours checking over each final ingredient, reading and rereading the potion to ensure that she hasn’t messed anything up. There is so limited magic available, only what small potions and things she brought over with her in the curse. She hadn’t prepared herself for a reason to  _ want  _ to break the curse like this, to give anyone their memories back, and it’s taken her far too long to scrounge up the remaining ingredients to make this perfect. She has just enough for three potions, one for Robin, and two extras in case this goes horribly, terribly wrong. 

It has to be perfect,  _ has to,  _ because she’s not sure she can lie to Robin any longer. He deserves better than a lie, better than her, and this will give him the truth that she now realizes she should’ve given him all along. 

She slips through the secret door from her vault to her office when her secretary is out to the post office, takes the opportunity to avoid the meek woman and head up the street toward Storybrooke Elementary to pick up Roland. It hits her that this might well be her last afternoon with him, that after today, Robin’s surely going to want nothing to do with her, and the ache in her chest makes her eyes flutter closed. 

It’s for the best. She has to do this, has no right to back down now.

The harsh bell rings overhead as school ends for the day, and a flash of dark curls rushes toward her and collides with her legs, little arms tightly squeezing her thighs. “You came!” 

“Wouldn’t forget you for the world,” she smiles, kneeling down to collect him into a tight hug. The little man clings to her like a koala when she stands, his arms and legs wrapped tightly around her as she scoops him up into her arms. “What do you say we make a pitstop on the way home? Your daddy’s got Henry, and I don’t think they’ll be missing us for quite some time.” 

Roland’s eyes widen and he leans back, his little body vibrating with excitement. “Can we go get ice creams?” 

She beams back at him and he cheers, wraps her back up into a hug as they walk through the front door of the school. 

“Today at school Miss Blanchard teached us about the summertime. She said that when the sun comes out, the weather gets all hot, and then we can go swimmin’ in the pool to stay cool. She said we get to have our summertime in June, but that’s far away,” he pouts. 

“Not too far,” she tells him, setting him down on the sidewalk. Roland fiddles with the strap of his small Captain America backpack and she takes it from him, slings the bag over her shoulder, and he then tucks his hand into hers. “It’s May 14th now, so we’re halfway through the month, and then in June you’ll be finished with school.” 

“Hmm,” he nods, bouncing along beside her. “Can me and Henry go swimmin’ this summer? He’s big now, we can play!” 

Regina laughs, stops him at the corner as cars pass by them. “Well—” she starts. “We, um— I’m sure that we can try and make that happen,” she replies, her voice wavering. There’s no promise they will have the summer together— Robin could very well take Roland from her, and she can’t fathom breaking another promise with the sweet little boy that’s currently tugging on her hand, jumping and pointing excitedly at the sign for the ice cream shop up the street, shouting  _ Look Miss Mayor! It’s right there! _ “It is,” she smiles, “and Henry’s still a bit small to go for a swim with you, but we can get him a float to sit in.” 

“I’ve got two shorts. Papa got me Ant-man swimmin’ shorts and they have little ants on them. Henry can have my Captain America ones to wear, so we can match.” 

“I’m not sure that your swim trunks are going to fit Henry, but I’m sure that they will one day.” 

“He’s still little,” Roland thinks, his brow furrowing, his hand squeezing her fingers. “Can you get him his own Avengers ones?” 

“Sure,” she smiles, opening up the door to the ice cream shop. “I bet you Henry will love to have matching swim trunks.” 

“Yeah,” Roland nods, his face beaming, chest puffing out as he stands up tall, “then we can be like real brothers.” He pulls his hand from hers and stretches up on the tips of his toes to peek into the freezer, looking at all of the flavors, while she stops dead in the center of the room and just stares. 

Real brothers.

It slices through her heart, regret forcing its way through her veins. 

She bites her lip to stop the tremble, takes a deep breath to will away the tears threatening to fall, and steps up to Roland, carding her fingers through his hair. “Did you decide?” He nods excitedly and Regina picks him up, settling him on her hip so he can see the young woman behind the counter. “Go ahead, tell her what you want.” 

“May I please have cookie ice cream, with chocolate and sprinkles?” 

“Absolutely,” the girls tell him, and Roland wiggles excitedly in Regina’s arms, proudly whispering  _ ‘I did it’  _ and watching as she scoops his ice cream into the cup. “Aren’t you gonna get one too?” 

“Do you think I should?” 

“Yes!” Roland shouts, stretching to watch as the girl scoops the sprinkles into his cup. “Everyone needs ice creams,  _ allllll _ the time. It makes everything better.” 

“You’re right,” Regina smiles, pressing a kiss to his head. “It does make everything better.” 

They settle outside on a bench, Roland’s tiny feet swinging as he happily enjoys his ice cream, rambling on about his part in the school play. It’s next week, and Regina’s not able to quell her own pride at his part, his constant “rehearsals” in their living room, rushing around the couch with his fox ears on going over the lines he has. She wouldn’t miss his performance for the world, and promises him just that when he asks her if she’ll be in the front row next Friday night. 

Sitting with him here, now, it calms her rapidly beating heart, carrying her mind from the thoughts that have plagued it for the past few months. She loves this little boy and everything that he’s brought into her life from the moment he sat down next to her at the diner, wormed himself into her bubble and never left. Without him she wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t have gotten the courage to adopt Henry, wouldn’t have Robin to hold her close every night. He’s so young, so naive to the way that he infiltrated her life and her heart, but when he reaches over and pats her on the leg, asks her if she can make him dinosaur shaped macaroni and cheese for dinner, she is pulled from her own thoughts and tugs him into her lap, peppers kisses to his cheeks and forehead until he’s roaring with laughter, and tells him he can have any dinner he wants. 

Roland finishes up his ice cream and he carefully sets it down on the bench, hops off and picks it back up to carry it over to the trashcan on the sidewalk. “Can we go see Papa and Henry now? I want to tell them about swimmin’ too.” 

.::.

It’s now or never. 

The vial sits heavy in her hands, the amber liquid leaving rings against the old, faded glass. It’s taken her months to complete, and she’s not even sure if she’s gotten it right or not. The only way that she’ll know means that Robin is probably going to hate her, that a look of disgust and disappointment that he’s never shown will come over his face and he’ll want nothing to do with her, or her son. 

He’ll take Roland, tell her that she’s evil and selfish, all of the things that her mother instilled in her subconscious so long ago, those which still rear their ugly heads each time she gets lost in that dark pit of her own self-worth. Everything that she’s worked for, the happiness she had finally won might be stripped away from her in one short moment, and she just wants to hold onto him for a second longer. 

The sharp whistle from the kettle goes off and startles her out of her trance, the vial almost slipping from her grasp. She fumbles with the pot, takes deep breaths to calm her rapidly beating heart and pours two cups of tea. It’s early, the sun casting an orange glow through her kitchen window and she can hear the pad of Robin’s feet upstairs, the slight creak of a bedroom door. He’s probably checking on Roland— he has his own bedroom in her house now, one that the two of them decorated together, and though he’s settled in, Robin still keeps the door cracked and checks in on him almost nightly. 

She hears Henry’s bedroom door next, her eyes glancing to the baby monitor. The camera is grainy but she can see Robin walk in, leaning over the edge of the crib tucking the blanket back up beneath his arms. 

Her hands are shaking, the vial back tight in her grip, her eyes trained on Robin taking care of her son. It’s taking everything in her to not throw it across the room, to watch the aged glass shatter, to watch the amber liquid trickle down her white walls like blood. 

Regina cannot live in a lie forever. She cannot allow herself to ruin his life, just as she has so many others. Robin and Roland deserve better, they should be able to trust her, to believe in her. They  _ do  _ believe in her, even though they’re mixed up in a terrible lie. A dark, twisted facade that, no matter how she looks at it, she knows that there is only one option left for her to make this right. 

.::.

Regina looks absolutely brilliant coming through their bedroom door. 

She’s got his shirt on, looks so small wrapped in the button up that he’d tossed onto her dresser the night before. The sleeves are cuffed up to her elbows, her hands wrapped around two steaming mugs. The hem of the shirt is brushing against her toned thighs and he itches to reach out and take the cups from her, tug her back into the bed and across his lap and ravish her just as he did the night before. 

Gods, he loves her. 

“Henry and Roland alright?” she asks, her voice soft as she pads across the room. He nods as she hands him the mug from her left hand, slips her knee down onto the silk sheets beside him, the bed barely dipping as she settles herself in next to him. His free hand comes out and he grips her thigh, brushes his thumb over the taunt muscle of her leg and gives her a firm squeeze. Something’s off with her, he can tell. Her eyes are cast down to his hand on her leg, her free hand reaching out to wrap around his, her fingers tangling between his own. 

“You love me, right?” 

He knows he shouldn’t laugh, but he can’t stop the sound that escapes from his lips. Robin, squeezes her leg, flips his hand over to take hers into his own and brings both of their hands up to her chest. “Oh darling, you know that I adore you, right? Love you more than anything on this Earth.”

Regina sucks in a deep breath, looks from their hands up at him and he can see the wetness in her eyes. She never cries, rarely lets him see any of her emotions other than stoic and firm, and the terrified look on her face worries him. “What is it darling?” 

“I—” she starts, her eyes falling closed, her breath evening out as he watches her calm herself. “I need you to promise me that after you drink your tea, you’re still going to love me.” 

“Love, just because I’m from England and you aren’t doesn’t mean you don’t make a fine cup of tea.” 

She gives him a watery laugh and squeezes his hand close to her chest, leaning down and dropping a kiss to his knuckles. “You promise?” 

He squeezes her hand, leans in carefully and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Our world could come crashing to a halt and my first focus would be loving you and our boys. I promise.” 

She tilts her head up and presses a kiss to his cheek, his jaw, and then finally settles in a kiss to his lips. He doesn’t understand why she’s doing this, why she’s kissing him so carefully, like it’s their last time, but he gives it back to her, lets her take what she needs from him. 

Regina pulls back, her breath shuddering, her hand squeezing his tightly against her chest. 

“Drink your tea.” 

Robin is beyond confused at the moment, wants to put the blasted cup down and take her into his arms and find out exactly what’s worrying that gorgeous heart of hers, but if she wants him to drink the tea, that’s exactly what he’ll do. 

He lifts the intricately designed ceramic to his lips, tastes the warm black tea, the hint of lemon and some other flavor he can’t quite put his tongue on. It’s good though and he swallows, and then suddenly, his mind goes black. 

When his eyes open again she looks terrified, both of their teacups forgotten on the table, her hands clasped tightly around both of his own. 

“R— Robin?” 

He doesn’t know what to think, neurons firing as he tries to process the onslaught of memories that keep hurling at him. He sees Marian,  _ his  _ Marian, running through the forest with Roland, her laughter ringing out in his ears. He sees John and Will and Tuck and himself huddled around a fire with the finest ale they could find in their grasp, listening to the crickets chirp, watching the stars shining overhead. He see’s Roland in his arms for the first time, the true memory of his tiny, squishy little lad with a full head of hair, his eyes scrunched together, little fists curled up around his cheeks, and it's the most beautiful thing that he has ever seen. 

He sees the back of a blood-red velvet gown, the dark, thick hair tied regally into an intimidating twist, the dark magic blasting from her palms, fireballs burning villages, hears the screams of villagers as they run from her wrath. 

See’s the cut jaw, blush red cheeks, the clear eyes of the woman he’s madly in love with, in a time where they were living vastly different lives in the same world. 

“Robin,  _ please _ say something. Anything.” 

He can’t stop the deep tone of his voice, the harsh rasp of, “How could you?” that slips from his tongue. 

The crack in her voice shatters his heart and he doesn’t know how to feel, how to react. She made him promise to love her and though he does, his heart is breaking at all the memories that had been wiped from him for so long. Years of false memories and lies, so many that he’s actually having a bit of a hard time separating them from the truth. 

There’s a stream of apologies spilling from her gorgeous lips but he can barely hear them, can’t process anything except their hands intertwined and the tears falling against his skin. 

“Please let me explain. I know now, I know how selfish I was, how I could’ve done this better. But please, you have to understand, I’m not the same person now that I was twenty years ago. You’ve changed me. You, Roland,  _ Henry,  _ I’m doing this here, now, for you. I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry, but please. Please Robin, I need you to say something. Let me know you’re in there. You don’t have to love me, I don’t deserve for you to love me. But please just  _ talk, dammit.”  _

“What do you want me to say Regina? That this is all okay? That I’m happy that you took away twenty years of my life, of Roland’s life? He should be 25 right now. He could be married, could have a child of his own. You stripped twenty years of our life away. I saw first hand the horrifying things the Evil Queen has done, the things she got away with. But knowing  _ you,  _ knowing the love of my life sitting before me, how in the world did your hatred of Snow White justify ripping us out of our lives, out of our homes? I’m not— I’m— god dammit Regina I don’t  _ know _ how I feel.” She clutches at him tighter, scoots herself closer and draws their hands to her chest, her voice pleading, but he cuts her off. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” 

He pulls his shaking hands from her own, tries to steady himself, runs his hands through his hair before turning and climbing up from the edge of her bed. 

“No, no Robin please. Please don’t go. Just stay, talk to me. Let me explain.” 

He goes to the drawer in her dresser that she’d designated as his own, tugs out a shirt and brashly pulls it over his head. His jeans are somewhere on the floor, kicked aside haphazardly last night when she peeled them off of him and dropped to her knees in the center of their room. Her room. Fuck. “I’ve got nothing to say right now. Nothing to hear either.” 

She scrambles off the bed, trips over the edge of the frame and he reaches out, catches her, her body pliant against as he tugs her upright and tucks a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. She looks heartbroken and he wants to wrap her up, kiss the worry lines from her forehead and promise her that it’ll be okay, that  _ they’ll  _ be okay… But he just can’t bring himself to do it. 

He deserves time. She took twenty years from him, what’s another day? 

“I’m going to go get Roland and take him home. I need time, Regina. You owe that to me, to him. Even if Roland doesn’t know that his entire childhood is a lie, he doesn’t need to know that the villain in his dreams is actually true.” He can’t stop himself from bringing his hand up, brushing away the silent tears that fall to her cheeks, and presses a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“I just… I need time.” 

When he comes out of Roland’s room, the sleeping boy conked out on his shoulder, he stops at the top of the staircase and watches her body facing the window in the corner of her room, her arms wrapped around her stomach, body racking with sobs. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he should go in there. He can’t though, the anger, the  _ hurt  _ is bursting back though his heart, weaving its way through his mind and splicing through his arteries like the tip of his arrow. 

He pads down the steps and out the front door. Roland’s stays fast asleep and he uses the moment to drop his head to the steering wheel, takes a deep breath and calms his shaking hands. 

His heart is broken, shattered into pieces as he pulls out of her driveway, catches a glimpse of the big white house disappearing in the distance behind him.

There’s no doubt in his mind that he loves Regina Mills more than anything in this world. In a matter of months she and her son have stolen his heart, built themselves a pocket right next to Rolands. They make him a better man, a better father, a better partner, and he knows that it’s why he’s so hurt right now. 

He trusted her. Would give his life for her if it meant that she was able to stay happy, to take care of their sons. 

He has so many questions too, but he really wants to know  _ why.  _ Why him? Why did she give him his memories back? Why would she both gift and burden him at the same time with the knowledge that their whole town is a farce? 

Not that it’s a bad one, he realizes. They’re a lot luckier now than they were back in the forest, living a life filled with electricity and appliances. They all have comfortable homes, and good jobs, and though their memories are not those that they’ve had their entire life, the ones that he was gifted from her weren’t all that bad. He was still blessed to have his son, and thinking back, everyone really is with their own families. For someone as wicked as the Evil Queen, she could have made their lives a living hell for the past twenty years. But instead she gave them good lives, and deep down he knows that the woman he’s fallen in love with has been there all along. 

.::.

Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck,  _ what has she done. 

This is it though. This is what she’s earned, the harsh, painful realization that she’s never earned happiness. She’s not worthy of him, not worthy of Henry, of any of this. Her mother was right, the wretched woman always told her how she wasn’t worthy of anything but power.  _ Love is weakness.  _ She didn’t want to believe it, always had that naive dream in the back of her mind that maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ she was allowed to be loved. It’d been shattered with Daniel, and now again with Robin. 

She’s wicked. She’s tormented. 

She’s the  _ Evil Queen.  _

She doesn’t deserve to be happy, and she’s stupid for allowing herself to get lost in that false reality that someone might actually love her. You can’t base love off of a lie, and that’s all she’s good for. Lies and damage and rash decisions piled up like Roland’s building blocks, teetering with each brick, higher and higher until it all came crashing down around her. 

Robin’s gone. 

She turns back to the two matching tea cups placed carefully on her bedside table, stops and stares at the pale blue ceramic, the curved, smooth edges. Her body takes over before her mind has a chance to catch up, wraps around the blasted cup with the vile liquid and hurls it across the room. It hits the mirror hanging on her wall and the glass cracks, the high-pitched smash reverberating through her ears, shards tumbling from the shattered mirror. Winds whip around her in the closed-off room, her chest heaving with each labored breath, and much to her dismay, the glass never touches the ground. 

The wind spins, bringing up broken shards of glass along with it, circling around her trembling body faster and faster. Regina grabs the other teacup and throws that one as well but it gets sucked into the current, her anger rising, cracking through her heart. She wants to scream, wants to let the anguished sound rip from her lips and cry out into the early morning glow that shines through her bedroom window. 

Her mind is darkening, vision tunneling. Her hands come up into her hair and grip, tug at the roots as she desperately tries to feel something,  _ anything,  _ the pain that she’s rightfully earned. Everything is collapsing in around her and it's getting louder and louder, screams echoing in her own mind, the visions of her mother falling backwards through that mirror, her father's heart crushing in her own hand, the weight of Daniel’s lifeless body and the feeling of cracked straw beneath her knees.

Regina collapses down, lands on her knees, trapped in a circle of wind and glass shards flying around her. Something else in the room shatters, sounds of the other teacup crashing against her end table, and a shard of the glass whips out of the circulation, momentum carrying it until the sharp edge slices along her cheek, and she hears Henry’s cries coming through the monitor. It’s loud, so,  _ so  _ loud and one of her cries burst from her lips at the blood slipping down her smooth skin, the heat coursing through her body, nestling like home in the palms of her hands. 

Fire. 

There’s two, beautiful,  _ glowing  _ fireballs streaming from her palms. Her eyes stay fixed on them, the rising flames flickering in the violent winds. 

Her dark magic has always been fueled by her anger— by fear. She had accepted that in this new land her magic was gone, 

It’s like a home she’d long abandoned, lost in the momentum of life, only to be brought back to her when she needed it the most. Henry was her new home, along with Robin and Roland, and she hasn’t deserved them either. She’s not worthy of love, not worthy of the magic that rests deep within her soul. She is only worthy of heartache, deserving of nothing more than the blood dripping down her chin and into her palm, the burning sensation of magic bursting from her fingertips, the harsh tingle coursing through her bloodstream and burning her flesh. 

It’s been twenty years since she’s felt magic resting in her hands and  _ oh,  _ it all feels horribly wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It gets better I swear


End file.
